WOT.  Of  CALIF.  LIBRARY.  LOS  ANGELE% 


COPYRIQHT  BY  EDMONSTON,  WASHINGTON,  D.  C. 

ZELDA 


DOUGLAS 


BY 

HIRAM  W.  HAYES 

Author  of  "Paul  Anthony,  Christian"  "The  Man  of  Clay," 
"The  Peacemakers,"  and  Others. 


ILLUSTRATED  BY  EDMONSTON 


PUBLISHED    BY 

THE  HOWERTON  PRESS 

WASHINGTON,  D.  C. 


Copyright,  1912,  by  Hiram  W.  Hayes 

Registered  at  Stationers'  Hall 
London,  England 


All  rights  reserved 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  AN  UNANSWERED  QUESTION  ...  1 

II  WHY  AND  WHEREFORE      ....  13 

III  AFRAID  TO  DIE  —  AFRAID  TO  LIVE   .  23 

IV  THE  UNEXPECTED  HAPPENS  ...  43 
V  A  TOUCH  OF  THE  FEMININE  ...  55 

VI    THE  FAITH  OF  AHAB 74 

VII  WHY  DOUGLAS  DRANK      ....  85 

VIII  A  DESERT  EXPERIENCE      ....  101 

IX     THE  GARDEN  OF  JOY 116 

X    ZELDA 129 

XI  THE  WEAKNESS  OF  SUPERSTITION     .  141 

XII  A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DESERT     .      .  155 

XIII  DARKNESS  BEFORE  THE  DAWN    .      .  166 

XIV  THE  DAWN 178 

XV    THE  STORY  OF  ANNA 190 

XVI  THE  NATURE  OF  GOD       .      .      .      .  211 

XVII    A  LESSON  IN  BEING 222 

XVIII    A  FEAST  OF  REASON 233 

XIX  DOUGLAS  TAKES  AN  ASSIGNMENT      .  244 

XX    THE  LIGHTER  SIDE 259 

XXI  DOING  SOMETHING  FOR  SOMEBODY    .  270 

XXII  A  FEW  POINTERS  ON  LAW      ...  282 

XXIII  THE  WISDOM  OF  ZELDA     ....  293 

XXIV    THE  FIRST  PROOF 304 

XXV  THE  WAY  OF  SALVATION  ....  314 

XXVI  DOUGLAS  ACCEPTS  A  TRUST   .      .      .  324 

XXVII  DOUGLAS  AND  I  DISAGREE      .      .      .  335 

XXVIII  THE  GREAT  QUESTION  ANSWERED    .  343 


21.304G3 


DOUGLAS 

CHAPTER  I. 

AN   UNANSWERED   QUESTION. 

THIS  is  the  true  story  of  one  mortal  man — the  story 
of  his  comings-in  and  his  goings-out;  his  fortunes  and 
his  misfortunes;  his  triumphs  and  his  disappointments; 
his  hopes  and  his  fears,  his  quests  and  his  discoveries 
and  his  progress  out  of  the  darkness  of  despair  into 
the  broad  sunlight  of  faith  and  understanding. 

It  is  the  story  of  a  man  whom  many  of  you  have  met 
in  your  goings  to  and  fro,  and  your  walkings  up  and 
down  throughout  the  world;  and  you  will  speedily 
recognize  him  and  wonder  how  anyone  ever  became 
intimate  enough  with  him  to  gather  the  details  of  his 
life  as  herein  set  forth,  because  many  of  the  things  he 
has  confided  to  me  are  the  foibles  and  fears  that  few 
will  admit  even  to  themselves. 

Recalling  my  first  meeting  with  him,  I  know  that  I 
often  wonder  how  I  ever  became  his  confidant  but  I 
did,  and  it  is  upon  his  personal  request  that  I  have 
written  down  the  story  of  his  life,  with  a  brief  outline 
of  its  vicissitudes,  happenings  and  adventures. 

As  you  progress  with  the  story  —  provided  you  be- 
come sufficiently  interested  to  get  beyond  the  first 
chapter,  you  will  easily  perceive  that  I  must  have 

1 


2  DOUGLAS 

known  even  his  thoughts,  to  have  set  forth  some  of 
the  matters  herein  detailed;  but  you  will  also  under- 
stand that  for  the  telling  of  this  story  it  was  absolutely 
necessary  that  he  should  reveal  to  me  the  most  secret 
impulses,  emotions  and  desires  by  which  he  was  moved 
to  this  or  that  action. 

In  fact,  to  make  a  long  story  short,  you  will  discover 
that  there  has  not  been  a  single  passion  or  motive  of 
his  life,  which  he  has  not  revealed  to  me  for  the  purpose 
of  this  narrative. 

Why  should  any  man,  you  will  ask  —  much  less 
this  one  —  wish  to  bare  his  innermost  soul  to  the 
scrutiny  of  an  inquisitive  and  critical  world  ?  The 
answer  will  be  found  in  the  question.  It  is  because 
the  world  is  inquisitive  —  always  seeking  knowledge 
either  of  good  or  evil,  and  for  either  a  good  or  evil 
purpose.  And  it  is  the  belief  of  this  particular  man 
that  it  is  most  frequently  a  knowledge  of  good  for  a 
good  purpose.  It  is  his  belief  that  most  men  —  in  fact  I 
think  he  says  all  men  —  would  be  better  if  they  knew 
how.  As  he  views  their  inquisitiveness,  it  is  simply  a 
desire  to  acquire  something  better  than  their  present 
knowledge  and  thus  better  their  condition.  In  their 
quest  many  fail.  It  is  in  the  hope,  therefore,  that 
through  the  perusal  of  the  record  of  his  bitter  experi- 
ence, these  inquisitive  persons  —  these  harmless  in- 
quisitors —  may  be  able  to  better  themselves,  that  he 
desires  his  story  told. 

My  meeting  with  this  man  was  so  commonplace  that 
we  were  never  formally  introduced  and  I  came  to  know 
him  only  as  I  heard  him  refer  to  himself.  I  was 
unable  at  that  time  to  decide  whether  it  was  his  Chris- 


AN  UNANSWERED  QUESTION  3 

tian  or  surname,  and  that  those  who  read  this  history 
may  have  the  same  pleasurable  experience  in  figuring 
it  out  that  I  did,  I  shall  refer  to  him  simply  as  Douglas — 
which  is  quite  sufficient  for  the  purpose  of  this  narrative. 

Commonplace  though  our  meeting  was,  I  shall  never 
forget  it.  There  are  features  connected  with  it  —  inci- 
dents pertaining  to  succeeding  events  as  well  as  to  that 
particular  event  —  which  stamp  it  indelibly  upon  my 
memory. 

It  was  the  night  following  the  terrible  eruption  of 
the  volcano  of  Mt.  Pelee.  It  had  been  a  strenuous 
time  for  every  man  on  the  paper;  but  so  absorbed  had 
all  of  us  been  with  the  details  that  I  am  sure  none  of 
us  had  noted  our  physical  condition.  I  know  that  I 
had  not,  for  although  it  was  now  more  than  an  hour 
past  midnight  and  I  had  been  on  duty  since  two  o'clock 
the  previous  afternoon  —  with  only  a  few  minutes  for 
dinner  and  a  still  shorter  time  for  luncheon  at  the 
counter  in  the  composing-room  while  I  looked  over  the 
make-up  of  the  mail  edition  —  I  had  never  felt  the 
burden  of  the  work,  or  the  responsibility,  so  little. 

The  edition  having  gone  to  press,  I  had  come  down 
stairs  to  my  desk  and  was  lighting  my  pipe  before  look- 
ing over  the  galley  proofs  which  the  boy  had  just  hung 
on  my  hook.  As  I  held  the  match  to  the  tobacco  and 
took  a  few  vigorous  puffs,  I  chanced  to  glance  through 
the  cloud  of  smoke  I  had  created  and  there  before  me 
stood  the  man  of  whom  I  am  about  to  write.  He  was 
glancing  casually  at  an  afternoon  edition  that  lay  spread 
out  on  the  table  and  seemed  to  feel  my  gaze  upon  him, 
for  he  turned  from  the  paper  exclaiming: 

"Terrible,  isn't  it?" 


4  DOUGLAS 

Of  course  I  knew  what  he  meant.  No  one  was 
thinking  about  anything  else,  and  so  I  replied  as  I  still 
held  the  match  to  my  pipe: 

"Worst  since  Pompeii." 

"Suppose  you  had  been  there!"  he  said. 

I  threw  away  the  match  and  taking  the  proofs  from 
the  hook  began  to  run  over  them  as  I  replied : 

"Well,  suppose  I  had?" 

"Where  would  you  be  now?"  he  asked  tremulously. 

I  took  my  pipe  from  between  my  teeth  and  blew  a 
great  cloud  of  smoke  toward  the  ceiling. 

"That  doesn't  answer  my  question,"  he  snapped  — 
almost  fiercely  it  seemed  to  me. 

"It's  the  best  I  can  do." 

"Then  you  admit  you  don't  know?" 

"Undoubtedly,"  I  replied.     "Do  you  ?" 

A  look  of  fear  that  was  almost  pitiable  came  into  his 
eyes  as  he  exclaimed: 

"No;  but  I  must." 

The  expression  on  his  face  and  the  tone  of  his  voice 
both  seemed  to  awaken  a  responsive  thought  in  my  own 
consciousness  and  I  again  removed  my  pipe  from 
between  my  teeth  and  regarded  him  earnestly. 

"Yes,  I  must!"  he  continued,  speaking  rather  to 
himself  than  to  me.  "I  must  know  what  would 
become  of  me  if  I  were  suddenly  snuffed  out  as  were 
those  thousands  at  St.  Pierre.  I  must  know  whether 
that  would  have  been  the  end  or  whether  —  as  the 
preachers  say  —  I  should  have  continued  my  existence 
in  some  place  dependent  upon  my  manner  of  life  here. 
Furthermore,  if  the  preachers  are  right,  I  must  know 


AN  UNANSWERED  QUESTION  5 

where  those  two  places  —  commonly  designated  as 
heaven  and  hell  —  are." 

"How  do  you  expect  to  find  out  ?"  I  asked,  more  to 
hear  what  he  would  reply  than  with  any  expectation  of 
a  coherent  answer  —  for  I  had  about  made  up  my 
mind  that  the  man  before  me  was  mentally  unbalanced. 

Again  upon  his  face  came  that  look  of  fear,  and,  as  he 
took  a  step  toward  me,  he  replied  in  a  husky  voice: 

"I don't  know,  but  I  must." 

"Why?"  I  asked  with  a  mocking  laugh.  "Why 
must  you  know?  What  difference  will  it  make?  If 
there  has  been  a  place  fixed,  that's  where  you'll  go. 
You  can't  change  it,  so  what's  the  use  of  worrying 
about  it?" 

"It's  the  uncertainty  of  it."  he  exclaimed.  "The 
terrible  uncertainty.  Don't  you  understand?" 

Yes,  I  understood  perfectly.  I  had  had  a  touch  of 
the  same  thing  myself;  and  in  my  newspaper  experience 
I  had  seen  many  men  —  men  of  strength  and  courage 
—  blanch  and  tremble  and  sweat  great  drops  while 
awaiting  some  terrible  ordeal;  yet  when  brought  face 
to  face  with  the  danger  —  when  in  the  midst  of  the 
trial  —  they  were  as  calm  and  unmoved  as  though 
undergoing  the  most  simple  experience  of  daily  life. 

Perceiving  by  my  looks  that  I  understood  his  mean- 
ing, my  visitor  continued : 

"There  must  be  some  way  of  solving  the  mystery. 
It  is  not  within  reason  that  man  was  brought  into 
existence  with  no  way  of  finding  out  whence  he  came 
and  whither  he  is  going.  It  is  as  though  I  should 
suddenly  find  myself  engaged  in  some  great  under- 


6  DOUGLAS 

taking  and  should  say  to  those  about  me:  'How  did  I 
come  into  this  work,  what  is  the  object  of  it  and  what 
am  I  to  do  after  it  is  finished  ? '  And  the  only  reply  I 
should  get  would  be:  'It  doesn't  matter.  Just  you 
keep  on  working,  Douglas,  and  leave  the  rest  to  the 
man  in  charge.'  How  much  use  do  you  think  I'd  be?" 

"I  should  say  it  would  depend  a  good  deal  upon 
how  much  confidence  you  had  in  the  man  in  charge." 

Douglas  laughed  a  mirthless  laugh:  "If  I  didn't 
know  any  more  about  him  than  I  do  about  the  Being 
who  is  running  the  universe,  I  would  not  have  much, 
would  I?" 

"I  can't  say  that  you  would." 

"Can't  you  say  that  I  wouldn't?"  he  exclaimed  with 
that  same  fierceness  which  seemed  characteristic  of  his 
nature. 

"I  suppose  I  can  if  that  will  help  you  any,"  I  replied, 
considerably  nettled  by  his  manner. 

"It  will  help  me  a  lot." 

"How?"     I  asked  in  surprise. 

"By  corroborating  my  reasoning.  I  shall  feel  better 
if  I  find  that  some  one  else  sees  the  foolishness  of  this 
whole  matter  the  same  as  I  do." 

While  this  was  entirely  a  new  idea,  it  struck  me  as  a 
reasonable  one  and  appealed  to  me  as  a  touch  of  that 
human  nature  which  has  caused  some  one  to  say  that 
misery  loves  company.  Furthermore,  it  convinced  me 
that  Douglas,  as  he  called  himself,  was  not  so  unbalanced 
as  I  had  thought. 

"Won't  you  sit  down?"  I  asked,  as  I  pushed  one  of 
the  office  chairs  towards  him,  and  seated  myself  at  my 
desk. 


AN  UNANSWERED  QUESTION  7 

He  took  the  proffered  seat  without  a  word  and  I 
began  looking  over  the  proofs.  For  some  minutes 
there  was  silence  and  I  had  almost  forgotten  his  pres- 
ence until,  glancing  up  from  the  column  of  print  before 
me,  I  found  his  eyes  fastened  upon  me.  To  interrupt 
his  gaze  I  asked: 

"Pardon  me,   are  you  waiting  for  some  one?" 

He  started  at  my  words  as  one  aroused  from  a 
dream  and  replied:  "Yes.  I  wanted  to  see  the 
managing  editor." 

"He's  gone  for  the  night,"  I  explained.  "I'm  his 
assistant.  Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you  ?" 

"Why  — "  he  answered  in  a  hesitating  manner, 
"you  see  I  spent  some  time  in  Martinique  a  couple 
of  years  ago  and  I  didn't  know  but  I  could  write  you 
a  little  something  that  might  be  of  interest  at  this  time." 
Then,  as  an  afterthought:  "I've  traveled  quite  a  bit." 

"Any  pictures?"  I  asked. 

"A  basket  full,  I  guess." 

"Bring  them  in  the  first  thing  in  the  morning,"  I 
said,  "together  with  any  thing  you  can  write.  We'll 
take  all  you  can  give  us  at  double  space  rates.  You're 
in  the  habit  of  writing,  are  you  ?  "  I  asked  as  he  arose. 

"Been  at  it  all  my  life." 

"That's  not  very  definite,"  I  laughed  as  I  glanced 
him  over  with  somewhat  more  interest,  thinking  he 
might  be  anywhere  from  twenty-four  to  forty-four, 
"but  I've  no  doubt  it's  long  enough." 

He  smiled  a  little  grimly  as  he  replied:  "Yes,  I  am 
a  bit  of  an  enigma  like  everything  else  in  life.  I'll 
bring  the  stuff  and  photos  in  before  noon.  See  you 
later,"  and  he  bowed  himself  out  in  a  manner  that 


8  DOUGLAS 

corroborated  his  statement  that  he  had  traveled  "quite 
a  bit." 

"Some  free  lance  who  went  out  during  the  war  with 
Spain,"  I  thought  to  myself  as  I  turned  to  my  proofs. 
"I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  he  turns  in  some  pretty 
good  stuff." 

I  was  not  mistaken.  When  I  came  down  to  the 
office  the  following  day  I  found  the  story  on  my  desk 
where  the  managing  editor  had  laid  it,  together  with  a 
note  saying  that  he  had  ordered  a  full  page  of  the 
pictures  made.  A  man  who  had  not  traveled  could  not 
have  written  such  a  story.  It  was  redolent  with 
the  atmosphere  of  the  Antilles  and  the  life  of  its  people. 
It  was  full  of  little  incidents  that  gave  to  the  narrative  a 
touch  of  human  interest  and  filled  the  heart  of  the 
reader  with  the  deepest  sympathy  for  those  of  the 
unfortunates  who  had  survived  the  eruption,  but  who 
were  without  food  or  shelter.  It  was  just  exactly  such 
a  story  as  we  needed,  and  I  thanked  my  lucky  stars 
for  "Douglas"  whoever  he  might  be.  I  was  not  sur- 
prised, therefore,  to  recognize  in  the  signature  which 
he  had  placed  at  the  end,  one  of  the  best  known 
noms  de  plume  of  the  day. 

Later  on,  about  the  same  hour  as  on  the  previous 
night  I  should  say  —  he  dropped  in  on  me  again. 

"Was  the  stuff  all  right  ?"  he  asked. 

"Fine,"  I  replied.  "Here  is  an  order  on  the  count- 
ing room  for  $100.  I  don't  think  you  can  get  it  before 
morning,  however." 

He  mechanically  made  as  if  to  put  the  little  slip  of 
paper  in  his  vest  pocket  as  he  said  in  a  faraway  sort  of 
voice:  "There's  no  hurry.  I  don't  need  it." 


AN  UNANSWERED  QUESTION  9 

"That's  no  reason  why  you  should  lose  it,"  I  said  as 
I  stooped  down  and  picked  up  the  check  which  had 
not  gone  where  he  thought  it  had,  but  had  fluttered  to 
the  floor. 

He  smiled  as  he  took  it  from  my  hand,  and  this  time 
put  it  away  with  a  little  more  care. 

"Money  never  did  mean  much  to  me,"  he  said 
apologetically,  "and  I've  sometimes  thought  that  is 
the  reason  why  I  have  had  such  a  hard  time  trying  to  be 
somebody." 

"I  don't  know  as  I  understand  your  philosophy," 
I  replied,  seeing  he  was  disposed  to  talk. 

"Why,"  he  returned  with  considerable  more  anima- 
tion, "can't  you  see  that  if  you  don't  value  money,  you 
simply  throw  it  away,  'burn  it  up,'  as  the  saying 
is?" 

"That's  every  man's  privilege,  I  reckon." 

"No,  it  is  not,"  replied  Douglas  with  decision. 
"Money  stands  for  something  in  this  world.  Inas- 
much as  it  brings  us  pretty  nearly  everything  we  want, 
I  can  see  that  it  ought  to  stand  for  a  great  good. 
Therefore,  it  should  be  used  for  a  good  purpose  —  not 
to  be  squandered  on  things  which  do  us  no  good 
even  though  they  are  not  a  positive  injury." 

"And  how  does  that  apply  to  you  ?"  I  asked. 

"Why,  riot  appreciating  the  real  value  of  money,  I 
have  squandered  it  and  thereby  become  a  nobody." 

"You  don't  think  that  money  makes  the  man,  do 
you?" 

"No,  but  the  thing  that  money  stands  for  does  — 
or  if  it  does  not  entirely  —  it  helps." 

"How?" 


10  DOUGLAS 

"That  is  a  question  that  cannot  be  answered  in  a 
sentence,"  he  replied. 

"All  right.     Then  take  two,"  I  laughed. 

He  smiled:  ''I  don't  want  to  take  up  your  time,  if 
you  are  busy?" 

"I  am  not  so  busy  I  cannot  listen  to  that." 

"Well  then,  if  money  stands  for  a  great  good  —  a 
means  for  doing  good  —  cannot  you  see  if  a  man  appre- 
ciates that  and  spends  his  money  in  doing  good,  he  can 
become  somebody?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  I  replied,  "I  can  see  that  readily." 

"Well  then,  the  more  money  a  man  has,  the  more 
good  he  can  do.  As  a  man  is  measured  by  the  good 
he  does,  you  can  see  what  I  mean  by  saying  that  the 
thing  money  stands  for  makes  the  man." 

I  looked  at  him  quizzically  as  I  asked:  "Don't  you 
think  there  is  anything  to  a  man  except  the  good  he 
does?" 

"I  can  not  see  that  there  is." 

"How  about  the  evil  that  men  do,  which  Shakespeare 
says  'lives  after  them,  while  the  good  is  oft  interred 
with  their  bones  ?' " 

"I  am  afraid  I  shall  have  to  disagree  with  Shakespeare. 
Of  all  that  I  have  ever  done,  how  much  do  you  think 
will  live  after  me  ?  " 

"Not  knowing  all  that  you  have  done,"  I  began,  but 
he  interrupted  me: 

"How  much  of  me,  do  you  think,  would  be  alive 
now  had  I  been  one  of  those  wiped  out  by  the  Mt.  Pelee 
eruption?" 

This  second  manner  of  asking  seemed  to  put  a  new 
phase  on  the  question  and  for  the  moment  I  was  non- 


AN  UNANSWERED  QUESTION  11 

plussed.  He  must  have  seen  the  puzzled  expression 
in  my  face  for  he  remarked  dryly:  "I  see  you  do  not 
care  to  commit  yourself." 

"It  isn't  that,"  I  hastened  to  say.  "It  is  simply 
ignorance.  Perhaps  if  I  knew  you  better  I  might  give 
you  an  entirely  different  answer  —  especially — "  I 
added  —  "if  your  other  works  are  as  good  as  the  story 
you  turned  out  today." 

The  little  compliment  seemed  to  touch  him,  for  his 
face  brightened,  and  he  asked  somewhat  eagerly,  as  I 
thought:  "Do  you  think  it  will  do  any  good?'* 

"Any  good  ?"  I  asked  in  a  puzzled  manner.  "Why, 
I  don't  know  as  the  publishing  of  anything  does  any 
particular  good." 

"You  don't?"  Douglas  retorted  eagerly.  "Don't 
you  think  what  I  have  written  will  help  to  bring  relief 
to  those  who  are  left?  Don't  you  believe  in  pub- 
licity?" 

"Certainly,"  I  replied,  answering  both  questions  at 
once. 

"Then  I  am  satisfied,"  was  his  reply. 

"We  have  already  started  a  relief  fund,"  I  explained, 
"and  I  am  sure  this  will  help  a  lot." 

He  flushed,  the  first  look  of  the  kind  I  had  seen  on 
his  face.  Then  suddenly  his  fingers  went  into  his  vest 
pocket. 

"Here,"  he  said  as  he  pulled  out  the  slip  I  had  given 
him  but  a  few  minutes  before,  "add  this  to  the  fund, 
will  you.  I  need  something  to  my  credit  —  some- 
where," and  laying  it  on  my  table  he  was  gone. 

This  brief  description  of  my  first  meeting  with 
Douglas  will  give  the  reader  a  glimpse  of  the  condition 


12  DOUGLAS 

of  his  mind  and  the  trend  of  his  thought  at  that  time. 
Since  then  —  but  why  go  into  explanations  ?  It  is 
better  simply  to  go  ahead  and  tell  the  story  of  Douglas 
and  how  he  found  the  answer  to  his  great  question,  as 
I  have  learned  the  facts  through  almost  constant  com- 
panionship with  him  from  that  time  to  this, 


CHAPTER  II 

WHY    AND    WHEREFORE 

IN  every  human  being  there  are,  seemingly,  two  per- 
sonalities —  the  one  arguing  for  good  and  the  other 
arguing  for  evil;  the  one  counseling  courage,  the  other 
suggesting  fear.  Of  course  this  is  only  seemingly  so, 
for  it  is  plain  that  man  is  only  one,  not  .two, 
individualities. 

There  is  an  explanation  for  this  illusion,  but  at  the 
time  that  I  became  acquainted  with  Douglas  he  had 
not  yet  reached  it,  and  so,  as  he  left  my  office  that  night, 
these  two  seeming  personalities  in  him  began  an  argu- 
ment something  after  this  fashion: 

"Why  should  you  worry  about  death  and  the  future  ?" 

"Because  their  uncertainty  —  uncertainty  of  the  in- 
visible —  fills  me  with  fear." 

"Fear  of  what?" 

"Uncertainty  of  the  invisible,  to  be  sure." 

"What!       Uncertainty  fills  you  with  fear  of  itself?" 

"Yes." 

"Uncertainty  is  nothing.  It  is  only  a  belief  in  the 
absence  of  something  —  absence  of  a  definite  knowl- 
edge." 

"But  where  shall  I  get  the  knowledge  ?" 

"I  don't  know;  but  wait!  Somewhere  I  have  read: 
'Sufficient  to  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof/  ' 

"I  don't  worry  about  today.  It  is  the  future  I  mind. 
I  must  know  the  future." 

IS 


14  DOUGLAS 

"No  man  can  know  the  future." 

"That's  why  I  am  afraid." 

"O  forget  it!" 

"I  can't  forget  it!" 

"Yes  you  can.     You  know  the  way." 

"But  I  don't  want  to  forget  it  in  that  way." 

"For  the  present  there  is  no  better.    Come  on." 

And,  giving  way  to  the  evil  voice,  Douglas  went,  as 
he  had  gone  many  times  before. 

The  place  to  which  he  went  was  brilliantly  lighted 
and  the  clink  of  glasses  and  the  hum  of  voices  mingled 
pleasantly  to  Douglas'  ears  as  he  entered.  Screened 
from  view  behind  many  potted  plants  a  stringed  or- 
chestra was  playing  softly.  Seating  himself  at  a  table 
where  he  could  get  a  good  view  of  what  was  going  on, 
Douglas  gave  his  order  to  one  of  the  soft-footed  waiters 
and  in  another  moment  was  seeking  forgetfulness  in 
that  which  ultimately  "biteth  like  a  serpent  and 
stingeth  like  an  adder." 

"There,"  exclaimed  one  of  the  seeming  personalities, 
"isn't  this  better  than  worrying  about  the  future?" 

"But  think  of  tomorrow,"  replied  the  other. 

"There  is  no  tomorrow,"  was  the  answer  and 
Douglas  poured  out  more  drink,  "laying  up  wrath 
against  the  day  of  wrath." 

Douglas  did  not  lack  congenial  company.  The 
place  was  filled  with  seekers  after  the  same  intoxication 
Douglas  sought.  Not  all,  perhaps,  sought  it  for  the 
same  purpose;  but  the  ultimate  result  was  to  be  inevi- 
tably the  same. 

"Eat,  drink,  and  be  merry  for  tomorrow  we  die,"  is 
the  creed  of  the  sensuous  materialist  —  and  the  fear 


WHY  AND  WHEREFORE  15 

that  beset  Douglas  showed  how  material  was  his  thought. 

"Have  another,"  said  a  voice  behind  him,  and  turn- 
ing Douglas  recognized  a  chance  acquaintance. 

In  the  conviviality  of  the  moment  one  companion  was 
as  good  as  another  and  they  joined  each  other.  The 
world  began  to  take  on  a  more  roseate  hue  and  for  the 
moment  Douglas  was  lifted  out  of  the  fear  which  had 
oppressed  him  since  he  first  heard  of  the  frightful  erup- 
tion which  had  sent  so  many  into  what  the  world  is 
pleased  to  term  eternity.  He  forgot  the  future,  forgot 
his  fears,  forgot  even  his  manhood. 

Again  and  again  were  the  glasses  filled.  One  by  one 
the  company  around  the  table  increased  to  half  a  dozen 
as  the  night-workers,  having  covered  their  assignments 
—  and  having  no  other  place  to  seek  a  few  minutes' 
recreation,  dropped  in. 

Douglas  was  an  entertaining  talker  when  not  de- 
pressed, and  this  morning  the  liquor  seemed  to  make 
him  unusually  brilliant.  He  was  one  of  those  who 
could  tell  a  story  of  personal  adventure  without  appear- 
ing egotistical,  and  his  broad  experience  in  many  parts 
of  the  world,  not  only  as  a  news- gatherer,  but  as  an 
analytical  writer  of  international  affairs  from  personal 
observation,  equipped  him  with  a  fund  of  what  the 
newspaper  man  terms  good  copy.  He  was  as  familiar 
with  conditions  in  Egypt  as  he  was  with  affairs  in  Wash- 
ington. His  views  on  the  policy  of  Russia  in  the  Orient 
were  as  pointed  and  interesting  as  his  description  of 
experiences  during  the  Boer  war.  He  had  learned 
Japanese  in  Nagasaki,  Scandinavian  in  Stockholm,  and 
Persian  at  the  embassy  in  Paris.  Just  once  he  mentioned 
his  nom  de  plume  and  then  every  man  at  the  table 


16  DOUGLAS 

raised  his  eyebrows  in  pleased  surprise  and  every  one 
wanted  to  order  another  drink. 

Then  it  was  that  Douglas,  glancing  at  the  marble 
clock  above  the  great  mirrors,  appeared  for  the  first 
time  to  notice  the  hour,  and  declared  he  must  go. 

The  gray  dawn  was  beginning  to  dim  the  electric 
lights  as  he  emerged  from  the  cafe  and  almost  ran  into 
me  as  I  hastily  turned  the  corner  on  my  way  to  catch  an 
early  car.  I  hardly  recognized  him  until  he  begged  my 
pardon.  Then  his  foreign  manner  of  salutation  at- 
tracted me,  and  I  exclaimed: 

"Oh,  it's  you!     Been  having  a  night  of  it?" 

"No,"  he  replied,  and  his  eyes  sparkled  through  the 
glasses  which  were  such  a  part  of  him,  "just  escaping 
from  Mt.  Pelee.  Won't  you  get  aboard  ?' ' 

"Where  are  you  bound?"  I  laughed. 

"No  place  in  particular.     Make  it  the  Heidelberg." 

I'm  not  a  drinker  myself,  but  as  he  insisted  I  finally 
agreed,  to  the  extent  of  a  small  nightcap.  Douglas 
drank  cognac. 

"Hadn't  you  better  be  getting  home  and  to  bed?"  I 
asked  him.  "The  sun  will  be  up  in  another  half 
hour." 

"Home!"  he  exclaimed.  "Home!  I've  almost 
forgotten  the  meaning  of  the  word." 

"Still  you  have  one?" 

"I've  a  place  where  I  work  and  sleep  —  that  is  when 
I  do  sleep." 

"Then  you'd  better  be  getting  there." 

"Why  ?  You  don't  think  I  can't  take  care  of  myself, 
do  you  ? ' ' 

"O  no,  but  you've  had  enough." 


WHY  AND  WHEREFORE  17 

"That's  no  reason  to  me."  Then  after  a  pause: 
"But  there  is  a  reason.  I'll  go!  So  long!" 

A  sleepy  cabby  was  just  climbing  into  his  seat  pre- 
paratory to  turning  in.  Douglas  gave  him  an  address, 
lurched  into  the  cab,  slammed  the  door  and  they  rattled 
up  the  street. 

It  was  some  minutes  before  my  car  came  along  and 
when  it  did  I  had  become  so  absorbed  in  running 
through  the  columns  of  our  greatest  rival  that  I  had 
forgotten  Douglas,  until,  chancing  to  glance  out  of  the 
car  window,  I  saw  him  going  up  the  steps  of  a  large, 
old-fashioned  residence  on  M —  street  in  rather  an  un- 
steady manner.  The  only  other  feature  I  had  time  to 
note  as  the  car  sped  by  was  a  handsome  girl  in  a  fresh 
morning  costume,  who  stood  bareheaded  in  the  door- 
way looking  down  upon  him  with  such  an  expression  of 
surprise  and  grief  that  it  lingered  with  me  for  days. 

I  turned  instinctively  in  my  seat  to  get  a  clearer  view 
as  I  passed.  Before  the  adjoining  building  hid  her 
from  my  sight,  I  saw  the  girl  cover  her  face  with  her 
hands  and  flee  into  the  house. 

' '  I  saw  that  you  reached  home  all  right  this  morning," 
I  said  to  Douglas  when  he  showed  up  at  the  office  that 
night  with  another  batch  of  copy,  seemingly  unaffected 
by  his  hours  of  dissipation. 

He  looked  at  me  in  a  startled  manner  as  he  asked : 

"What  else  did  you  see?" 

"What  else  was  there  to  see  ?"  I  asked  evasively. 

"There  might  have  been  a  good  deal."  Then  medi- 
tatively: "I  wish  I  knew  exactly  what  did  happen." 

'  *  Why  do  you  think  anything  happened  ? ' ' 

For  a  moment  he  was  silent.    Then  he  said  slowly : 


18  DOUGLAS 

"Some  men  were  born  to  make  women  unhappy. 
They  have  a  way  of  saying  things  or  doing  things,  or  not 
doing  things,  or  something  or  other  that  causes  women 
to  become  interested  in  them,  and  then  of  failing  to 
measure  up  to  the  woman's  standard.  And  you  know," 
he  finished  half  apologetically,  "how  any  of  us  hate  to 
have  our  idols  shattered." 

I  nodded  my  head  but  made  no  reply. 

"Well,"  he  continued  when  he  saw  I  was  expecting 
him  to  go  on,  "I  seem  to  be  one  of  those  unfortunate 
men.  I  never  made  love  to  a  woman  in  my  life.  I'm 
afraid  of  them,  but  I  always  treat  them  with  the  greatest 
deference  and  respect  and  I  try  to  talk  about  myself  as 
little  as  possible.  I  couldn't  do  any  less,  could  I?" 

"Certainly  not,"  I  admitted,  thinking  how  interesting 
such  a  man  always  is  to  the  opposite  sex. 

"Neither  can  I  do  any  more,"  he  added  fiercely. 

"That  ought  to  be  enough,"  I  suggested. 

"But  it  isn't!"  he  declared  rising  to  his  feet,  "It 
isn't!  They  expect  a  whole  lot  more  of  one.  Because 
you  hold  yourself  in,  when  in  their  presence,  they  seem 
to  think  you  a  sort  of  Sir  Galahad  and  they  begin  —  in 
their  minds  —  to  make  a  hero  of  you.  Then,  when  they 
find  you  are  only  an  ordinary  mortal,  the  blow  is  more 
than  they  can  stand." 

"Well,  what  has  that  to  do  with  your  going  home 
this  morning?" 

"Oh  nothing,  only  there  is  a  girl  up  there  —  a  niece 
or  something  of  the  woman  who  runs  the  place,  that 
has  been  setting  me  up  on  a  pedestal  simply  because 
she  knows  nothing  about  me." 

"That's  kind  of  her,  I  am  sure." 


WHY  AND  WHEREFORE  19 

"Very,"  exclaimed  Douglas  with  a  shrug,  "and  I 
have  appreciated  it  the  more,  because  she  is  not  an  ordi- 
nary sort  of  a  girl.  If  I  were  writing  for  publication  I 
should  say  that  in  spite  of  her  seemingly  humble  position 
she  is  a  queen  among  women." 

' '  I  thought  you  said  she  was  a  girl  ? ' ' 

"She  is.  A  typical  American  girl.  In  years  she 
may  not  be  more  than  twenty-two,  but  her  thoughts 
are  those  of  a  woman." 

I  looked  at  Douglas  quizzically  for  a  moment  ere  I 
suggested  that  in  the  matter  of  pedestals  he  seemed  to 
have  placed  the  girl  on  quite  as  lofty  an  one  as  she  had 
him. 

"She's  entitled  to  it,"  he  declared.  "I'm  not. 
Even  you  can  see  that." 

Just  exactly  what  he  meant  by  "even"  me  I  do  not 
know,  but  I  was  too  interested  to  quibble  over  words; 
so  I  admitted  that  I  thought  he  was  a  long  ways  from 
being  the  ideal  man. 

"And  now  that  you  have  laid  your  scene  and  intro- 
duced your  characters,  what's  the  story?"  I  asked. 
"What  happened?" 

"Her  idol  is  shattered,"  he  laughed. 

"How  so?" 

"I  suppose  she  must  have  seen  me  when  I  went  in 
this  morning." 

"What  makes  you  think  so  ?" 

"Because  when  I  spoke  to  her  as  I  came  out  this 
evening,  instead  of  answering  she  burst  into  tears  ex- 
claiming: 'O  Douglas!'  and  left  me  standing  on 
the  steps  feeling  like  a  fool.  Now,  what  does  it  all 
mean  ?" 


20  DOUGLAS 

Then  I  told  him  what  I  had  seen  in  the  morning  and 
finished  by  asking: 

"Does  she  always  call  you  Douglas?" 

No,  now  I  think  of  it,  I  am  sure  she  always  '  mistered' 
me  before." 

"Douglas,"  I  exclaimed  fiercely,  "you're  a  brute." 

"It's  just  my  luck,"  he  declared  bitterly.  "I 
thought  I'd  get  in  without  her  seeing  me,  although  I 
didn't  suppose  she'd  care  one  way  or  the  other.  Natur- 
ally a  man  doesn't  want  a  woman  to  see  him  under  the 
influence." 

"Still,  as  long  as  he  drinks,  it's  likely  to  happen. 
Why  do  you  do  it  ?" 

He  raised  his  eyes  and  regarded  me  with  the  utmost 
surprise. 

' '  Don't  you  know  why  men  drink  ?  "  he  finally  asked. 

"Because  they  are  fools,"  I  replied. 

"No,  because  they're  cowards." 

"Cowards?" 

"Yes,  cowards  —  educated  cowards.  They  begin 
to  be  scared  to  death  the  minute  they  are  born  —  per- 
haps before  —  first  by  their  grandmothers  who  are 
always  saying:  'Don't  let  the  baby  do  that  or  he'll  be 
sick;'  next  by  their  mothers,  who  won't  allow  the  child 
the  slightest  liberty  of  thought  or  action  for  fear  of  dire 
results;  then  by  the  doctor,  who  sets  up  a  code  of  laws 
regarding  health  that  makes  it  too  dangerous  to  live, 
and  lastly  by  the  preacher,  whose  dogmatic  doctrines 
make  it  even  more  dangerous  to  die. 

"Is  it  any  wonder,"  he  demanded  fiercely,  "that 
men  indulge  in  drink  or  in  any  manner  of  excesses  which 


WHY  AND  WHEREFORE  21 

will  enable  them  to  forget  ? ' '  And  he  began  pacing  up 
and  down. 

"I  can't  say  that  it  is." 

"You  can't  say  that  it  is  ?"  and  he  turned  and  looked 
at  me  in  disgust.  ' '  Is  there  nothing  to  you  but  a  nega- 
tive side  ?  Haven't  you  any  opinions  ?  Can't  you  say 
yes  or  no,  instead  of  that  everlasting,  'I  can't  say  that  it 
is,  or  I  can't  say  that  it  isn't  ? '  I  know  I  am  a  coward  — 
I  know  I  am  afraid  to  die  —  I  know  I  do  things  I  should 
not  do.  Can't  you  say  that  it  either  is  a  wonder  or  it  is 
not  a  wonder  that  I  do  it  ?  " 

I  was  not  accustomed  to  being  addressed  in  this 
manner  and  it  angered  me.  Therefore  I  replied  with 
considerable  emphasis: 

' '  Of  course  I  can  answer  you.  I  can  see  you  are  not 
a  fool,  so  you  must  be  a  coward.  It's  no  wonder  you 
get  drunk.  The  only  wonder  is  that  you  are  ever  sober. 
If  I  were  afraid  to  live  as  you  say,  or  afraid  to  die  as  you 
evidently  are,  I'd  get  drunk  and  stay  drunk." 

I  had  expected  him  to  make  an  angry  retort.  Instead 
a  smile  played  upon  his  expressive  features  as  he  replied: 

"You  can't  do  it;   not  on  liquor." 

"Why  not?" 

' '  Because  that  would  be  suicide,  but  — "  as  I  was 
about  to  speak,  "I  try  to  keep  myself  intoxicated  in 
other  ways  in  order  to  keep  from  thinking  about  the 
future  and  the  uncertainty.  That  is  why  I  have  gone 
any  and  everywhere  I  could  find  excitement." 

"And  about  the  girl?"  I  asked,  greatly  mollified  by 
his  manner. 

His  face  fell. 


22  DOUGLAS 

"I  don't  know!"  he  confessed.  "What  do  you 
think  I  ought  to  do  ?  " 

"I  am  no  surgeon  of  lacerated  hearts,"   I   declared. 

"Rubbish!  Her  heart  isn't  lacerated.  It  isn't  even 
chafed." 

"If  you  could  have  seen  the  expression  on  her  face 
that  I:saw  this  morning  you  would  know  differently." 

"You  don't  really  mean  it?  "and  he  turned  a  shade 
paler,  a  thing  that  seemed  well-nigh  impossible,  for 
Douglas  was  as  fair  as  a  girl  in  spite  of  his  outdoor  life. 

"I  really  do." 

"Then  there  is  but  one  thing  for  me  to  do,"  he  de- 
clared emphatically,  ' '  and  I'll  do  it,  much  as  I  shall 
regret  the  necessity." 

"What's  that?"  I  interrogated  with  some  surprise 
and  no  little  trepidation,  for  I  was  sure  I  did  not  want 
to  impel  him  to  do  anything  rash,  even  though  at  that 
time  he  was  only  a  chance  acquaintance.  "What  is  it 
you  will  do?" 

"I  shall  get  another  rooming  place  the  first  thing  in 
the  morning." 


CHAPTER  III 

AFRAID   TO    DIE AFRAID   TO    LIVE 

THERE  were  so  many  news  features  to  the  Mt. 
Pelee  disaster  —  stories  of  thrilling  escapes,  deeds  of 
heroism  and  incidents  full  of  heart  interest  —  that  it 
seemed  as  though  all  other  news  was  too  insignificant 
for  publication;  but  right  in  the  midst  of  this  strenu- 
ous season,  the  employees  of  the  Street  Railway 
Company  took  it  upon  themselves  to  add  to  the 
mental  eruption  by  a  strike  that  tied  up  every  line  in 
tht  city. 

The  result  was  —  in  so  far  as  I  was  concerned 
personally  —  that  when  I  left  my  apartment  to  go  to 
the  office  one  fine  afternoon  in  May,  I  found  it  was 
either  a  case  of  walk  or  ride  in  a  delivery  wagon.  A 
carriage  or  cab,  because  of  the  unusual  demand 
down  town,  was  out  of  the  question. 

In  view  of  the  numerous  news  centers  thus  simul- 
taneously created  and  the  difficulty  of  reaching  them, 
we  immediately  pressed  into  service  every  available 
writer  in  town,  and  even  at  that  were  unable  during 
the  next  two  weeks  to  cover  the  city  in  anything  like 
the  manner  it  should  have  been. 

In  this  emergency  Douglas  was  one  of  those  who 
came  to  our  assistance.  His  broad  experience  and 
versatility  made  him  most  valuable,  and  because  of 

23 


24  DOUGLAS 

his  world- wide  reputation,  his  signed  articles  were  a 
feature  of  the  daily  developments.  He  refused  to 
take  specific  assignments  but  regularly  each  day 
brought  in  gossipy  stories  of  the  daily  happenings. 
They  were  brief  and  breezy,  but  presented  a  concise 
statement  of  the  day's  doings  —  doings  not  only 
numerous,  but  oft  times  thrilling. 

For  the  first  week  the  strike  was  peaceable.  Then 
came  a  time  when  an  attempt  was  made  to  break  it. 
The  history  of  strikes  is  too  well  known  to  need  repeat- 
ing. Sympathizers,  rather  than  strikers,  opposed  the 
law,  and  rioting  and  bloodshed  followed. 

When  human  passions  are  not  subdued,  destruction 
is  the  inevitable  result. 

Controlled  by  his  haunting  fear  of  death  and  its 
uncertainties,  every  form  of  excitement  was  but  a 
species  of  intoxication  to  Douglas  to  keep  his  mind 
off  his  ever  present  specter.  As  a  result  he  plunged 
into  these  scenes  of  disorder  with  as  little  seeming 
fear  as  though  he  were  going  to  a  ball  game  —  which 
simply  goes  to  show  that  a  man's  actions  are  not  always 
a  correct  index  of  his  thoughts.  Although  the  excite- 
ment which  he  craved  was  created  by  the  danger 
of  the  situation,  he  seemed  to  lose  all  consciousness  of 
it  in  the  intoxication  of  news  gathering. 

"Sure  you're  liable  to  get  your  head  broken  if  you 
go  down  among  them  Greeks  and  Dagoes,"  warned 
Sergeant  McHugh,  the  big  officer  in  charge  of  the 
mounted  squad  in  the  third  precinct,  as  he  saw 
Douglas  pass  the  station  one  afternoon. 

"No  more  liable  than  you,"  was  the  reply. 

"That's  what  we're  paid  for,"  said  McHugh  grimly. 


AFRAID  TO  DIE  —  AFRAID  TO  LIVE    25 

"So  am  I,"  declared  Douglas.  "Doubly  paid  if 
that's  what  I  happen  to  get.  But  none  of  them  know 
me!"  and  down  into  the  danger  zone  he  went. 

It  was  five  minutes  later  that  a  riot  call  was  turned 
in,  and  McHugh  at  the  head  of  half  a  dozen  horsemen 
dashed  down  the  street.  There,  facing  a  howling, 
blood-thirsty  mob,  stood  Douglas,  livid  with  fear  and 
anger,  while  back  of  him  cringed  an  old  woman, 
stripped  of  all  her  outer  garments  and  with  what  she 
still  wore  torn  to  rags. 

A  street-car,  nearly  half  way  off  the  track,  with  torn 
sides  and  shattered  windows,  bore  mute  evidence  of 
what  had  happened.  It  had  been  dynamited  and 
the  crew  driven  away.  The  woman,  who  chanced  to 
be  the  only  passenger,  had  been  set  upon  by  women 
and  young  hoodlums  as  she  left  the  car  and  her  cloth- 
ing torn  from  her.  She  would  have  been  completely 
denuded  —  as  had  been  the  case  on  one  or  two 
previous  occasions  —  had  not  Douglas  interfered. 

Forcing  his  way  through  the  crowd  he  threw  the 
woman's  assailants  to  one  side  and  weaponless, 
except  for  a  tongue  so  sharp  that  its  scathing  rebuke 
cut  deeper  than  any  weapon  he  could  have  wielded, 
he  faced  the  mob. 

"You're  a  fine  lot  of  American  citizens,  you  are!" 
he  shouted.  "To  tear  the  clothes  off  a  poor,  gray- 
headed  old  woman  who  never  heard  of  you  nor  your 
strike  —  you  hoodlums ! " 

For  a  moment  the  mob  was  taken  by  surprise,  and 
then  it  turned  upon  him  with  a  shout  of  rage,  while 
many  hands  were  put  forth  to  seize  him.  His  coat 
was  torn  and  his  hat  knocked  from  his  head.  For- 


26  DOUGLAS 

tunately  the  scene  occurred  on  a  piece  of  asphalt 
pavement  where  stones  were  scarce;  but  the  mob 
knew  where  to  look  and  just  as  McHugh  and  his  men 
dashed  down  the  street,  stones  began  to  fly,  many 
being  thrown  by  those  too  large  to  be  called  boys. 
Douglas  protected  his  head  with  his  arm  as  best  he 
could,  but  one  of  the  stones  struck  him,  inflicting  a 
scalp  wound  from  which  the  blood  was  streaming. 

"I  told  you  to  keep  out  of  here!"  shouted  McHugh 
as  he  dashed  up  striking  out  both  sides  with  the  flat  of 
his  saber;  for  McHugh  had  been  a  cavalryman  in  his 
younger  days  and  insisted  upon  his  right  to  use  a 
cavalryman's  weapon,  "I  knew  what  would  happen 
to  you  if  you  came  here." 

The  words  were  hardly  out  of  his  mouth  when 
there  was  an  explosion  that  sent  great  chunks  of 
asphalt  flying  through  the  air  and  scattered  both  the 
horsemen  and  mob  like  chaff  before  the  wind.  It 
must  have  been  a  stray  bit  of  dynamite,  for  no  one  in 
the  crowd  would  have  been  foolish  enough  to  have 
taken  any  such  chance. 

When  McHugh  had  his  horse  under  control  and 
again  returned  to  the  spot,  he  found  only  Douglas. 

Word  of  the  trouble  reached  the  office  just  as  I 
came  in,  and  being  considerably  interested  in  Douglas 
by  this  time,  I  hastened  to  the  hospital.  They  had 
laid  him  on  an  operating  table  and  he  appeared  to  be 
suffering  greatly,  although  the  only  external  marks 
were  a  bruise  on  his  side  and  the  wound  on  his  head. 

"What  do  you  think  is  the  matter?"  he  asked  in  a 
low  voice,  after  the  surgeon  had  made  a  careful 
examination. 


AFRAID  TO  DIE  —  AFRAID  TO  LIVE    27 

"Some  internal  injury,  the  nature  of  which  I  cannot 
determine.  It  seems  pretty  serious." 

Douglas'  face  had  been  pale,  but  it  suddenly  be- 
came almost  death-like,  while  over  his  countenance 
spread  that  look  of  fear  which  had  been  so  pronounced 
the  first  time  I  met  him. 

"You  don't  think  I'm  going  to  die,  do  you?" 

"Oh,  no." 

Then  as  the  surgeon  placed  his  hand  on  the  side 
where  a  great  swelling  was  beginning  to  appear,  his 
face  belied  his  words. 

"You  are  lying  to  me,"  Douglas  groaned.  "I  can 
see  it  on  your  face.  But  I  can't  die,"  and  great  drops 
of  sweat  stood  on  his  forehead.  "Do  something  for 
me,  can't  you  ?  I  don't  mind  the  pain.  I  don't  care 
how  much  it  hurts;  only  don't  let  me  die." 

The  surgeon  cast  a  look  almost  of  disgust  upon  him 
as  he  said: 

"Be  a  man!" 

"I  can't!"     Douglas  groaned.     "It  isn't  in  me." 

"Oh,  come  now,  of  course  it's  in  you.  We  will  do 
the  best  we  can  to  pull  you  through  this,  but  we've 
all  got  to  go  some  time." 

"My  God!  not  now!  Not  now!"  and  Douglas 
closed  his  eyes  while  his  face  contracted  with  pain. 

I  called  the  surgeon  to  one  side  and  explained  to 
him  in  a  few  sentences  what  I  had  gathered  of  the 
accident  and  also  of  the  terrible  fear  of  death  that 
seemed  such  a  part  of  the  man. 

"His  actions  would  prove  that  he  is  not  a  coward," 
I  declared.  "It's  just  that  fear  of  the  hereafter.  I 
actually  believe  he  is  dying  of  fear." 


28  DOUGLAS 

The  surgeon  returned  quickly  to  Douglas  and  again 
placed  his  hand  upon  his  side.  The  injured  man 
opened  his  eyes  and  looked  at  him. 

"I  think  I  have  located  the  trouble,"  he  finally  said. 

Douglas'  eyes  grew  almost  glassy.  "Do  you  think 
it  will  prove  fatal  ?"  he  gasped. 

"Not  necessarily.  You  have  a  good  fighting 
chance.  But  I  think  we'll  have  to  operate  on  you. 
You're  not  afraid  of  chloroform,  are  you  ?" 

"I'm  not  afraid  of  anything  that  will  help  me  to 
live,"  he  said. 

While  preparations  were  being  made  to  administer 
the  anaesthetic  I  stood  over  him. 

"He  thinks  I'll  pull  through,  doesn't  he?" 

"Sure!"  I  replied. 

Then  as  I  turned  to  leave  him:  "I'll  be  down  to 
see  you  in  the  morning." 

He  seemed  satisfied  with  this  and  I  left.  I  had 
little  hope  of  his  recovery;  but  contrary  to  expecta- 
tions he  pulled  through.  Before  the  strike  was  over 
he  was  around,  and  although  even  more  fearful, 
apparently  willing  to  take  the  same  chances  over 
again. 

"You're  certainly  a  mystery  to  me,"  I  exclaimed  a 
few  nights  later  as  we  were  having  a  bite  to  eat  at  the 
"shoe-string  counter,"  the  name  by  which  the  little 
restaurant  across  the  street  from  the  office  was  known, 
"if  I  were  as  afraid  of  death  as  you  are,  I'd  never 
take  another  chance." 

"I  have  to,"  he  replied  as  he  regarded  reproachfully 
the  size  of  a  small  steak  the  waiter  had  just  brought 
him. 


AFRAID  TO  DIE  —  AFRAID  TO  LIVE    29 

"Why?" 

"I  have  to  live,  don't  I?" 

"Evidently  you  do.  You're  too  scared  to  die. 
But  why  don't  you  seek  some  less  dangerous  employ- 
ment?" 

"You're  just  as  safe  in  one  place  as  in  another," 
he  declared.  "Death  is  walking  around  with  you 
everywhere  you  go.  If  God  doesn't  get  you  one  time, 
He  will  another." 

"God?"  I  ejaculated.  "You  don't  think  God 
kills  people,  do  you  ?  " 

"That's  what  I've  always  been  told.  At  every 
funeral  I've  ever  attended  I  have  heard  the  preacher 
declare  that  God  had  taken  the  victim  to  Himself  — 
only  they  don't  usually  refer  to  the  departed  one  as 
the  victim.  If  the  preachers  are  wrong,  what  is  the 
fact?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Maybe  you  are  one  of  those  who  do  not  think  God 
actually  sends  trouble  and  death,  but  only  permits 
them  to  exist,"  he  suggested.  "What  do  you  believe 
any  way?" 

"I  don't  know  what  I  believe.  I  don't  ever  stop 
to  think  about  it." 

"Don't  you  ever  expect  to  die?" 

"Of  course  I  do." 

"And  then  what?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"And  you  are  not  afraid?" 

"I  don't  think  so." 

"Then  you  are  either  one  of  two  things." 

"Yes?  Suppose  you  name  them." 


80  DOUGLAS 

"You  are  either  a  saint  or  a  fool." 

"I  don't  think  I  am  either,"  I  declared  with  some 
wrath. 

"You  must  be!"  and  he  sawed  savagely  at  his 
steak.  "Any  man  who  deliberately  goes  stumbling 
through  life  —  when  he  knows  that  he  is  likely  to  be 
punished  for  the  evil  that  he  does  —  and  either  does 
not  reform,  or  fear  for  the  ultimate  result,  must  be  a 
fool." 

"Why  don't  you  reform  then  ?"  I  asked  with  a  good 
deal  more  emphasis  than  I  can  express  in  words. 

"I  don't  seem  to  know  how.  I've  tried  to  live  a 
Christian  life,  but  the  job  simply  seems  impossible. 
As  I  read  the  Bible,  there  is  no  half-way  position. 
You  either  have  to  confess  your  sins,  be  converted, 
and  never  do  anything  wicked  thereafter,  or  else  you 
are  worse  off  than  you  were  before." 

"In  other  words,"  I  suggested,  "a  man  is  either  all 
good  or  all  bad." 

"Well,  not  exactly,  but  when  Jesus  cured  people 
of  sickness  he  said :  '  Go  and  sin  no  more,  lest  a  worse 
thing  come  upon  you.*  To  me  this  means  that  if  you 
see  your  sin,  turn  to  God,  as  the  saying  is,  and  then 
don't  stick  to  it,  you  are  worse  off  than  ever." 

"Then  I  take  it,  you  think  you  would  be  better  if 
you  knew  how  ?  " 

"Yes,  but  I  don't  know  how.  I  don't  even  know 
if  my  theory  is  right.  I  don't  know  anything,  and  as 
a  result  I  am  simply  afraid  of  the  future  and  its  uncer- 
tainty —  afraid  of  the  invisible. 

"I  don't  believe,"  he  continued  as  he  looked  up 
from  his  plate,  "that  I  am  afraid  of  physical  suffering. 


AFRAID  TO  DIE  — AFRAID  TO  LIVE    31 

I  do  not  think  I  am  afraid  of  the  pain  that  precedes 
death,  for  I've  been  through  a  lot;  but  I'd  rather  be 
torn  on  the  rack  than  to  die." 

"Well,"  I  remarked  encouragingly,  "I  don't  think 
you  need  fret  about  the  matter.  No  one  wants  to 
die,  and  every  man  will  fight  to  live  as  long  as  he  can." 

"No,  you  are  wrong.  A  lot  of  men  have  died 
simply  for  principle;  but  not  I.  Why,  I'd  recant 
every  conviction  I  have  ever  had  to  save  my  life." 

I  regarded  him  curiously.  I  wondered  if  he  were 
absolutely  the  only  one  of  a  kind,  or  if  he  were  one  of 
a  class  —  a  type  so  to  speak.  I  was  sure  that  to  my 
knowledge  I  had  never  before  met  one,  but,  and  I 
went  back  into  myself  —  I  did  not  believe  most  men, 
feeling  as  Douglas  did,  would  admit  it.  Therefore  I 
might  have  met  many  like  him,  whom  fear  of  ridicule 
would  have  prevented  from  admitting  it. 

As  best  I  could,  I  explained  my  thoughts  aloud. 

"I  have  seen  the  time  I  would  not  admit  my  fear," 
he  replied.  "But  ever  since  I  began  my  search  for  a 
real  solution  to  this  problem,  I  have  discussed  it  with 
every  one  who  might  be  able  to  throw  any  light  on 
the  future." 

"I  hope  you  didn't  think  that  I  could  ?" 

"I  hadn't  thought  much  about  you.  I  was  sort  of 
surprised  into  divulging  my  feelings  to  you.  But 
since  you  did  not  make  fun  of  them,  I  began  to 
look  upon  you  as  one  in  whom  I  could  confide." 

"I  appreciate  your  good  opinion,"  I  laughed. 
"And  now  if  you'll  take  my  advice,  you'll  let  the  city 
editor  get  you  a  permit  to  carry  a  revolver  during 
the  rest  of  the  strike." 


32  DOUGLAS 

"No  shooting  irons  for  me  —  not  in  the  United 
States.  Why,  one  shot  from  a  revolver  can  get  a  man 
into  more  trouble  hi  ten  seconds  than  half  a  dozen 
lawyers  can  get  him  out  of  in  ten  years." 

"But  wouldn't  you  feel  safer?" 

"When  a  man's  a  coward  he  never  feels  safe,"  and 
again  that  look  of  fear. 

"I  don't  believe  it  is  honest  for  you  to  call  yourself 
such  a  name  after  the  way  you  acted  in  that  riot.  To 
stand  between  an  old  woman  and  that  mob,  certainly 
took  some  courage." 

"That  wasn't  courage.  That  was  anger.  It  made 
me  mad;  but  I  was  nearly  scared  to  death  every 
minute." 

"You  can  call  it  what  you  please,  but  if  I  were  in  a 
tight  place,  I'd  rather  have  such  a  man  as  you  at  my 
back  than  a  good  many  who  pride  themselves  on  their 
bravery." 

He  shook  his  head  slowly.  "You'd  be  sadly  dis- 
appointed. You  would  better  take  your  chances  with 
the  other  fellow. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  continued  after  a  pause,  "what 
makes  me  do  some  of  the  fool  things  that  I  do.  I 
think  it  must  be  the  same  impulse  that  impels  a  man 
to  thrust  his  hand  into  moving  machinery,  or  to  want 
to  jump  off  a  high  place;  or  it  may  be  simply  my 
thirst  for  the  intoxication  of  excitement.  But  what- 
ever it  is,  I  am  eternally  getting  into  places  where  I'd 
give  all  I  possess  if  I  could  only  get  out  and  run  away 
—  I'm  so  scared." 

"Then  why  don't  you?" 


AFRAID  TO  DIE  —  AFRAID  TO  LIVE    33 

"I  don't  dare.  I  know  that  my  only  safety  lies  in 
facing  the  danger." 

"He  who  fights  and  runs  away  may  live  to  fight 
another  day,'"     I  quoted. 

"Yes,  provided  some  one  doesn't  shoot  him  in  the 
back.  I  never  could  get  up  courage  enough  to  run. 
The  very  uncertainty  of  what  was  behind  me  would 
paralyze  me  with  fear." 

"The  uncertainty  of  things  in  general  seems  to  be 
your  Nemesis,"  I  laughed. 

"Not  only  mine,  but  every  man's." 

I  suppose  he  noticed  the  incredulous  expression  on 
my  face,  for  he  hastened  to  explain  : 

"You  don't  believe  it?  I'll  back  it  up  with  the 
words  of  as  great  a  student  of  human  nature  as  the 
bard  of  Avon.  Doesn't  he  say:  'For  who  would 
bear  the  whips  and  scorns  of  time'  and  so  forth. 

'When  he  himself  might  his  quietus  make 
With  a  bare  bodkin     *     *     * 
But  that  the  dread  of  something  after  death 
Makes  us  rather  bear  the  ills  we  have 
Than  fly  to  others  that  we  know  not  of.'  " 

"But  you  were  speaking  of  the  uncertainties  of  life." 

"To  some  they  are  worse  than  the  uncertainties 
of  death." 

"Which  accounts  for  the  occasional  use  of  the  'bare 
bodkin,'"  I  suggested. 

"Undoubtedly.  But  whether  in  this  world  or  the 
next,  it  is  uncertainty  that  fills  us  with  fear  and  makes 
cowards  of  us  all." 

"Which  doesn't  agree  with  Shakespeare,"  I  laughed. 
"He  says  it's  'conscience."' 


84  DOUGLAS 

"Which  amounts  to  the  same  thing.  A  man's  con- 
science is  the  most  uncertain  of  all  uncertainties," 
declared  Douglas. 

"I'll  have  to  figure  that  out  later,"  I  said  as  I 
picked  up  the  checks  and  left  the  table. 

But  I  didn't  find  time  that  night,  nor  did  I  think  of 
it  again  until  another  story  developed  big  enough  to 
take  our  minds  off  the  strike,  just  as  the  strike  had 
topped  Mt.  Pelee.  It  was  one  of  those  stories  with  a 
metaphysical  feature  and  I  put  it  in  here  simply  as 
showing  how  Douglas  figured  it  out  from  his  peculiar 
viewpoint. 

This  new  item  was  brought  to  the  attention  of  the 
public  through  startling  disclosures  regarding  the 
misdeeds  of  a  prominent  attorney,  a  bare  suggestion 
of  which  had  been  printed  a  few  days  before.  The 
story  will  easily  be  remembered  by  newspaper 
readers  as  the  Olds  case,  in  which  the  misdeeds 
referred  to  consisted  of  the  misappropriation  by 
Attorney  Harvey  P.  Olds  of  large  funds  entrusted  to 
his  care,  betrayal  of  the  confidence  of  his  clients  and 
gross  misuse  of  his  position  in  society  —  a  position 
won  by  a  long  line  of  upright  and  honorable  ancestors. 

Like  the  Mt.  Pelee  story  it  promised  many  ramifi- 
cations. Already  facts  enough  had  developed  to 
make  it  the  talk  of  the  city,  and,  pending  action  by 
the  authorities,  all  that  was  needed  to  make  it  a 
typical  newspaper  story  was  a  character  study  of 
Olds  —  a  story  by  one  well  enough  versed  in  meta- 
physical and  psychological  deduction  to  make  it  of 
value.  By  this  I  do  not  mean  that  it  must  necessarily 
be  by  a  Nordau  or  a  Lombroso,  but  simply  by  one 


AFRAID  TO  DIE  —  AFRAID  TO  LIVE    35 

whose  knowledge  along  those  lines  would  be  patent 
to  every  reader. 

We  did  not  have  a  man  on  the  staff  equal  to  the 
task  and  Williams,  the  managing  editor,  had  just 
decided  to  ask  the  services  of  a  well  known  alienist, 
when  Douglas,  unannounced,  entered  the  sanctum,  a 
bit  the  worse  for  liquor.  We  were  not  only  surprised 
but  considerably  annoyed  at  the  interruption,  and 
Williams  was  about  to  request  him  to  withdraw  when 
he  asked  in  a  matter-of-fact  manner: 

"What  do  you  think  he  did  with  it?" 

As  on  a  former  occasion  it  was  unnecessary  to  ask 
to  whom  or  what  he  referred. 

"Blew  it,  I  suppose,"  said  Williams  curtly. 

"It's  easy  for  a  man  like  Olds  to  spend  a  couple  of 
millions,"  I  ventured. 

"What  do  you  think  he  did  with  it?"  asked 
Williams. 

"Gambled!"  declared  Douglas. 

"On  stocks  I  suppose?" 

"On  anything." 

"He  didn't  need  the  money  to  gamble.  He  had 
plenty,"  I  suggested. 

"Not  the  way  he  gambled,"  said  Douglas.  "He 
didn't  care  whether  he  won  or  lost. 

"Then  why  did  he  gamble?" 

"For  the  excitement.  He's  been  trying  to  forget 
something.  I  know  the  look." 

For  an  instant  his  own  face  took  on  that  expression 
I  have  so  often  mentioned.  Then  I  guessed  the 
wherefore  of  his  condition. 

"Have  you  seen  him?"  I  asked. 


36  DOUGLAS 

"Yes,  I've  been  watching  him." 

"Why?"  snapped  Williams. 

"Just  studying  him."  Then  in  explanation,  "I 
met  him  several  days  ago  at  the  bar  banquet,  and  the 
hungry  look  on  his  face  attracted  me.  There  seemed 
no  reason  for  it  from  all  I  could  learn  and  so  I  deter- 
mined to  make  it  my  business  to  find  out.  I  am  sure 
I  have,  and  I  predict  that  unless  he  is  speedily  arrested 
and  guarded  he  will  commit  suicide  —  unless,"  he 
added  as  an  afterthought,  "some  one  can  talk  him 
out  of  it." 

"What  did  I  tell  you?"  said  the  city  editor. 
"That's  just  my  opinion." 

"Can  you  write  us  something  along  that  line?" 
asked  Williams. 

"I  have  already  written  it.  Here!"  taking  a  manu- 
script from  his  pocket,  "see  if  it's  what  you  want." 

Williams  glanced  over  it  hastily. 

"Couldn't  be  better,"  he  said. 

He  handed  it  to  the  city  editor. 

"Put  it  in  a  box  and  use  it  on  the  first  page." 

Then  to  Douglas:  "How'd  you  like  to  help  us  out 
on  this  story?" 

"Glad  to,"  was  the  reply. 

An  hour  later  found  Douglas  at  the  Olds'  home- 
stead. As  he  entered  the  spacious  grounds  the 
attorney  was  pacing  up  and  down  the  broad  veranda 
that  ran  around  the  front  of  the  house. 

Approaching,  Douglas  accosted  him,  but  Olds 
made  no  answer,  nor  did  he  cease  his  restless  pacing. 

For  a  moment  Douglas  stood  irresolute  and  then 
began  walking  along  with  the  distraught  man. 


AFRAID  TO  DIE  —  AFRAID  TO  LIVE    37 

"Listen  to  me,"  he  said,  taking  hold  of  Olds'  coat 
sleeve. 

Olds  looked  at  him  blankly  for  a  minute,  and  then 
seeming  to  awaken  exclaimed: 

"What  do  you  want?" 

"Why  did  you  do  it?" 

"Do  what?" 

"Gamble  away  other  people's  money?" 

Olds  stopped  and  glared  at  him  fiercely: 

"  I  didn't  gamble.     Who  says  I  did  ?  " 

"I  say  you  did.     Why  did  you  do  it?" 

The  man  resumed  his  walking  and  for  several 
minutes  Douglas  kept  pace  with  him. 

"Stop  and  tell  me!"  he  finally  demanded  as  he 
halted  in  his  tracks  and  brought  his  companion  up 
with  a  short  turn 

For  a  space  Olds  regarded  him  angrily. 

"Young  man,  do  you  know  what  fear  is?"  he 
finally  asked. 

Douglas  shrank  as  from  a  blow.  Only  his  news- 
paper training  enabled  him  to  conceal  his  feelings 
as  he  replied: 

"Fear  of  what?" 

"Fear  of  what?  Why,  fear  of  everything.  Fear 
of  the  simplest  things  in  life.  Fear  of  eating;  fear  of 
sleeping;  fear  of  losing  a  case;  fear  of  losing  money; 
fear  of  sickness  and  fear  of  poverty;  fear  of  ridicule 
and  fear  of  criticism;  fear  of  living  and  fear  of  dying; 
fear  of  everything  the  future  may  hold,  in  this  world 
or  in  the  next." 

"How  about  fear  of  wrong-doing?*'  queried 
Douglas,  "and  the  fear  of  being  found  out?" 


38  DOUGLAS 

Olds'  face  became  ashen. 

"And  the  fear  of  punishment?" 

The  man  trembled  in  his  grasp. 

"Why  do  you  torment  me  with  such  questions?" 
he  gasped. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Douglas  loosening  his 
grasp  upon  Olds'  arm,  "I  didn't  mean  to  torment  you, 
I  simply  wanted  to  get  your  reason  for  the  thing  you 
did." 

Olds  stared  at  him  helplessly  and  sank  into  a  porch 
chair. 

"There  may  have  been  good  reasons,"  suggested 
Douglas.  "That  is,  they  may  have  seemed  good  to 
you." 

"They  did!"  exclaimed  Olds.  "They  did!  But 
who  will  believe  me?  Who  will  believe  that  I  did 
what  I  did,  just  to  forget?"  and  he  buried  his  face  in 
his  hands. 

Douglas  confessed  to  me  later  that  he  felt  an 
inward  sense  of  great  elation  as  he  asked: 

"To  forget  what?" 

"My  fears,  of  course."  Then  after  a  pause:  "Or 
it  might  be  more  correct  to  say  the  things  of  which  I 
am  afraid." 

For  a  space  the  two  men  eyed  each  other  without 
speaking,  the  one  triumphant,  the  other  fearful. 

"You  don't  believe  it?"  said  Olds. 

"Absolutely,"  replied  Douglas.  "I  know  the 
symptoms,  but  are  you  not  mistaken  as  to  the  thing 
you  fear?" 

"What?"  cried  Olds  springing  to  his  feet.  "Mis- 
taken ?  Don't  you  think  I  know  what  I  fear  ? 


AFRAID  TO  DIE  —  AFRAID  TO  LIVE    39 

Haven't  I  laid  awake  night  after  night  disturbed  and 
harassed  by  the  thought  I  might  lose  a  case  ?  Haven't 
I  spent  hours  and  days  in  figuring  out  my  income  and 
expenses  and  fearing  that  through  some  unforeseen 
turn  I  might  reach  a  time  where  I  would  be  unable  to 
maintain  my  position  ?  Haven't  I  lost  money  because 
I  was  afraid  to  take  chances  ?  Haven't  I  cringed 
and  crawled  and  denied  my  own  honest  convictions 
time  and  again  for  fear  of  ridicule  and  — " 

"I  should  say  that  was  pride!"  interrupted  Douglas. 

"It  may  have  been  pride  that  made  me  fearful,  but 
it  was  fear  just  the  same  —  fear  of  poverty,  of  failure, 
of  death,  of  the  future  —  that  has  driven  me  to  do 
anything  that  would  keep  the  specter  out  of  my  mind." 

"I  think  you  are  wrong  in  your  conclusions,  Mr. 
Olds.  If  you  were  a  poor  man  today,  with  health 
and  a  clear  conscience,  you  would  not  fear  poverty. 
You  would  at  once  go  to  work  to  overcome  it.  Isn't 
that  so?" 

Olds  remained  silently  thoughtful  for  a  moment  ere 
he  replied:  "Yes,  I  think  it  is." 

"And  if  ever  you  failed  to  score  a  point  in  a  case, 
you  didn't  quit.  You  simply  went  to  work  harder. 
Isn't  that  so?" 

"Why,  yes." 

"Then  it  is  not  failure,  poverty,  loss  of  position 
you  fear  —  it  is  something  a  good  deal  more  subtle. 
It  is — "  and  Douglas  paused  to  give  his  words  their 
full  effect,  while  Olds  eyed  him  suspiciously  — 
"It  is  uncertainty  you  fear  —  the  uncertainty  of  the 
future  and  what  it  has  in  store  for  you.  It  is  the 
uncertainty  of  developments  in  your  present  trouble 


40  DOUGLAS 

that  you  fear  now.  Before  the  exposure  came  it  was 
the  uncertainty  of  what  your  friends,  your  wife  — 

"My  wife!"  groaned  Olds.  "For  God's  sake 
don't  mention  her.  It  is  killing  her.  The  only  way 
I  can  save  her  from  further  disgrace  is  to  kill  myself. 
But  I  dare  not !  No,  I  dare  not !  I  fear  —  '  he 
looked  inquiringly  at  Douglas  who  finished  the 
sentence  for  him. 

"The  uncertainty  of  the  future  —  the  invisible!" 

Olds  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  and  his  frame  shook 
with  suppressed  emotions  as  he  exclaimed  under  his 
breath : 

"Yes,  but  the  sooner  the  uncertainty  is  over  the 
better." 

So  absorbed  had  Douglas  been  in  the  interview  that 
he  had  failed  to  hear  the  click  of  the  opening  door, 
the  approach  of  footsteps,  or  to  realize  that  he  was 
not  alone  with  Mr.  Olds,  until  he  felt  himself  brushed 
aside  and  Mrs.  Olds  flung  herself  upon  her  knees 
before  her  husband  exclaiming: 

"Not  that,  Harvey!  Do  not  add  the  disgrace  of 
cowardice  to  your  other  wrong-doings!" 

"Cowardice!"  exclaimed  Olds  looking  up  quickly. 

"Yes;  it  would  be  cowardly  to  end  your  life." 

Olds  looked  up  at  Douglas  with  an  expression  of 
such  doubt  that  the  latter  was  moved  to  say: 

"It  takes  a  brave  man  to  die,  madam!" 

"It  takes  a  braver  man  to  live,"  Mrs.  Olds  replied, 
raising  her  eyes  and  casting  upon  Douglas  such  a  look 
of  scorn  and  anguish  as  he  had  never  before  en- 
countered. 

"It  was  as  though  she  thought  I  was  urging  her 


AFRAID  TO  DIE  —  AFRAID  TO  LIVE    41 

husband  to  kill  himself,"  Douglas  explained  to  me 
afterwards  in  telling  me  of  the  interview,  "and  for 
the  moment  she  almost  convinced  me  against  my  own 
belief  that  the  uncertainty  of  life  was  more  to  be 
feared  than  the  uncertainty  of  death." 

"It  certainly  was  a  remarkable  interview,"  I  said, 
"I  don't  see  how  we  can  print  it." 

"Not  print  it!"  exclaimed  Douglas.  "Not  print 
it?  Why,  man,  it  gives  a  better  insight  into  the 
personality  of  Harvey  Olds  than  all  the  character 
studies  that  could  possibly  be  written.  You'll  have 
to  print  it.  If  not  tomorrow  —  soon." 

"Why?" 

"Because  his  wife,  in  her  attempt  to  arouse  him, 
will,  instead,  convince  him  that,  as  Shakespeare 
negatively  suggests,  the  uncertainties  of  death  are  not 
really  so  greatly  to  be  feared  as  those  of  life,  and  he 
will  choose  the  lesser  evil  —  provided  that  fear,  itself, 
does  not  kill  him  in  the  meantime.  If  she  had  left 
me  alone,  I  would  have  convinced  him  the  other  way." 

Douglas'  prediction  —  though  which  you  will  have 
to  decide  —  proved  correct,  although  many  doubt  it 
because  of  its  dramatic  details. 

Through  the  advice  of  his  lawyer,  Olds  went  to  court 
the  following  day,  had  a  formal  charge  preferred 
against  him,  was  bound  over  to  the  grand  jury  and 
was  released  on  $50,000  bond.  He  had  a  fainting 
spell  in  the  court  room  and  had  to  be  assisted  to  his 
carriage.  From  his  home  that  evening  came  the 
report  that  he  was  quite  ill,  and  for  several  days 
newspaper  men  were  denied  admission  to  the  grounds. 

On  the  third  day,  however,  he  sent  word  that  he  had 


42  DOUGLAS 

a  statement  to  give  out.  At  the  appointed  hour  half 
a  dozen  representatives  of  the  morning  papers  went 
to  his  house. 

Olds  was  seated  in  a  chair  on  the  porch,  his  wife 
by  his  side.  As  the  reporters  came  up  the  walk  he 
arose  to  greet  them.  For  a  moment  he  stood  looking 
at  them  irresolutely. 

Suddenly  his  face  grew  white,  a  spasm  passed  over 
his  entire  body  and  he  pitched  forward  from  the 
steps.  The  coroner  gave  a  verdict  of  heart  disease. 

Then  we  printed  Douglas'  interview. 

As  for  myself,  I  am  free  to  admit  that  I  have  never 
been  able  to  decide  whether  it  was  heart  disease,  fear, 
or  suicide.  Douglas  now  declares  it  doesn't  make 
any  difference  —  that  they  are  all  one  and  the  same 
thing. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE    UNEXPECTED    HAPPENS 

I  HAD  known  Douglas  something  like  two  years,  and 
I  was  now  managing  editor  of  the  Herald  when  he 
appeared  at  my  office  one  night  in  an  unusual  condition. 
I  had  become  used  to  seeing  him  in  unusual  conditions, 
not  always,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  by  events  which  would 
naturally  excite,  but  rather  by  over-indulgence  in  the 
curious  liquors  he  had  learned  to  drink  in  various  parts 
of  the  world.  He  would  disappear  for  weeks  at  a 
time  and  then  —  as  on  this  occasion  —  appear  without 
warning  and  almost  invariably  with  a  story  that  was 
well  worth  while. 

"Where  do  you  get  them?"  I  once  asked,  for 
although  I  was  aware  that  he  knew  personally  nearly 
every  man  of  prominence  in  the  political  and  diplo- 
matic world,  it  did  not  seem  that  they  would  always 
have  a  story  saved  up  for  him. 

"I  don't  often  give  away  secrets,"  he  laughed,  "but 
I'll  tell  you  this  one.  I  look  upon  every  man  I  know 
as  just  so  much  copy  and  I  draw  upon  them,  as  I  would 
upon  any  other  repository,  only  when  there  is  a  supply 
on  hand." 

On  this  particular  night  his  condition  was  clearly 
not  induced  by  any  of  the  various  liquors  above  alluded 
to  —  about  which  at  some  time  I  am  going  to  tell  you, 

43 


44  DOUGLAS 

and  how  Douglas  became  addicted  to  their  use  —  but 
to  a  more  remarkable,  if  not  more  unreasonable  cause. 

That  I  was  glad  to  see  him  you  will  readily  believe, 
when  I  tell  you  there  was  not  a  first  page  story  in  sight 
and  his  condition  savored  of  news.  Therefore  it  was 
with  unusual  warmth  that  I  invited  him  to  be  seated 
and  remarked: 

"To  judge  from  your  looks  it  must  be  a  big  one?" 

"It  is,"  he  replied,  "but  it's  not  for  publication." 

The  answer  was  a  surprise,  for  it  was  the  first  time 
I  had  ever  heard  Douglas  suggest  that  there  was  any 
story  that  could  not  be  published. 

I  must  confess,  however,  that  during  the  months  of 
our  acquaintance  he  had  continued  much  of  a  mystery. 
While  he  and  I  frequently  spent  an  evening  at  the 
theater  and  usually  dined  together  at  least  twice  a 
week  when  he  was  in  town,  I  had  never  been  to  his 
home,  wherever  it  might  be,  nor  up  to  this  time  did  I 
know  much  of  his  private  life.  With  his  disposition, 
his  doubts,  and  his  fears,  I  had  become  fairly  well 
acquainted,  as  a  reasonable  part  of  our  conversation 
was  always  along  metaphysical  lines.  I  also  knew  his 
faith  in  publicity  and  so  I  was  surprised  to  hear  him 
say  that  there  was  any  story  that  could  not  be  published. 

"If  it's  not  for  publication,"  I  began  after  a  minute. 
"Why  have  you  brought  it  to  me  ?" 

"Because,"  he  replied,  "I've  simply  got  to  tell  it  to 
somebody." 

"And  if  it's  as  big  as  all  that,  what  do  you  think 
will  happen  to  me  when  I  come  to  know  it  ?  Why,  I'll 
have  to  print  it!" 


THE  UNEXPECTED  HAPPENS  45 

"No  fear  of  that,"  he  replied.  "You  simply  won't 
believe  it;  that's  all." 

' '  Have  I  ever  questioned  any  of  the  stories  you  have 
brought  me  ? ' ' 

"Never;  because  you  have  always  been  able  to 
verify  them.  This  one  you  can't,  although  I  believe 
it  can  be  proved." 

More  than  ever  I  was  filled  with  surprise. 

"You  know,"  he  continued  after  a  moment,  "the 
best  stories  in  life  are  never  printed." 

"It's  a  traditional  belief  of  the  profession,"  I  repliedo 
"At  any  rate,  I've  so  often  heard  it  stated  and  never 
disputed  that  I  am  willing  to  accept  it  as  the  truth." 

"I  am  sure  of  it,"  he  exclaimed,  "Why  ?  Because 
the  best  stories  in  the  world  are  not  recognized  as  such 
by  the  only  persons  who  know  them.  You  know  very 
well  the  ordinary  newspaper  reader  has  no  idea  of  the 
value  of  a  story  outside  of  the  size  of  the  head  he  finds 
on  it." 

"Possibly,"  I  admitted. 

"And  if  you  were  to  tell  the  average  man  that  there 
was  anything  in  his  life  that  would  make  a  story,  he 
would  not  believe  you." 

"Probably  not!" 

"Nevertheless,  there  are  men  walking  up  and  down 
the  streets  right  outside  your  very  doors,  who  could 
give  you  stories  so  big  that  you  could  not  find  type 
large  enough  to  properly  display  them." 

"I'll  take  your  word  for  it,"  I  laughed.  "But 
what  has  all  this  to  do  with  the  thing  that's  bottled  up 
in  you  ready  to  destroy  you  unless  it  finds  vent  ? '  * 


46  DOUGLAS 

Assuming  an  air  of  great  importance  Douglas  began : 
' '  I  believe  I  have  found  the  man  whose  consciousness 
at  this  moment  contains  THE  story  of  all  time." 

I  looked  at  him  with  a  quizzical  smile  as  I  said :  ' '  All 
right!  Out  with  it!" 

Placing  his  hands  on  my  knees  and  leaning  over  so 
that  his  face  was  not  more  than  six  inches  from  mine 
he  said  in  a  voice  little  more  than  a  whisper: 

' '  I  have  found  a  man  who  has  discovered  the  secret 
of  Being." 

For  a  moment  I  regarded  him  silently  and  then, 
placing  my  hands  on  his  shoulders,  I  pushed  him 
gently  from  me  as  I  remarked: 

"That  may  interest  you;  it  doesn't  me.  Neither, 
I  am  sure,  would  it  interest  the  readers  of  the  Herald  — 
even  if  they  did  believe  it." 

' '  Not  if  he  could  prove  it  ?  " 

I  shook  my  head. 

Douglas'  lips  parted  and  he  eyed  me  in  speechless 
surprise.  At  last  he  exclaimed  in  a  voice  so  loud  it 
startled  me: 

"What?  You  don't  think  it  would  interest  the 
world  to  know  who  we  are  —  what  we  are  —  where 
we  came  from  and  whither  we  are  going  ?  You  don't 
think  it  would  interest  the  world  to  know  the  where- 
fore of  the  past  and  to  be  able  to  solve  the  mystery  of 
the  future  ?  Why,  man,  if  this  individual's  theory  is 
correct  and  he  is  able  to  prove  it,  it  is  the  greatest 
piece  of  news  in  the  world.  Thousands  —  yes, 
millions  of  men  are  today  trying  to  discover  this  secret 
and  have  been  trying  since  the  world  began.  Every 
preacher  of  every  creed  and  denomination  in  the  world 


THE  UNEXPECTED  HAPPENS  47 

is  trying  to  explain  it.  Millions  more  are  hungering 
to  learn  it,  while  you  — you,  the  managing  editor  of 
one  of  the  greatest  dailies  in  the  world,  cannot  see  the 
value  of  it  as  a  news  item." 

He  sank  back  into  his  chair  and  threw  up  his  hands 
with  an  expression  of  the  utmost  disgust  while  I  replied 
as  calmly  as  I  could: 

"Of  course  I  see  the  value  of  such  a  piece  of  news 
as  you  describe  —  just  as  I  see  the  value  of  the  dis- 
covery of  a  practical  system  of  wireless  telegraphy. 
The  wireless  discovery  will  be  made  some  day  —  in 
fact  I  am  not  sure  but  it  already  has  been.  An  item 
to  that  effect  has  just  been  published.  But  did  we 
make  a  spread  ?  No.  We  used  a  brief  announce- 
ment. Why?  Because  having  no  understanding  of 
the  matter,  most  people  do  not  yet  believe  it  possible 
and  have  no  interest  in  wild  theories.  Such  news  has 
to  develop.  It  will  be  a  big  story  some  day.* 

"It  is  just  the  same  with  this  story  you  have.  The 
world  is  not  ready  for  it  as  news,  even  though  the  man 
can  prove  his  position  to  you  and  to  me.  Instead  of 
looking  upon  it  as  a  scientific  discovery,  ninety-nine 
out  of  a  hundred  of  our  readers  —  maybe  more  — 
would  regard  it  simply  as  a  new  religious  doctrine. 
Having  their  own  religion,  they  would  either  regard  it 
with  supercilious  derision  and  pay  no  attention  to  it 
whatever,  or  else  they  would  want  to  write  us  letters 
showing  its  disagreement  with  established  beliefs. 
Yes,"  I  laughed,  "we'd  get  a  barrel  of  letters  and  every 
man  would  demand  that  we  print  his  or  he  would  stop 
his  paper." 

*  This  prediction  has  since  been  fulfilled.  —  EDITOR. 


48  DOUGLAS 

' '  But  if  we  could  prove  it  ?  " 

I  shook  my  head. 

"Convince  a  man  against  his  will,'"  I  quoted, "'and 
he's  of  the  same  opinion  still.'  Just  think  how  long 
Columbus  was  in  convincing  the  world  that  the  earth 
is  round." 

"Because  they  wouldn't  give  him  a  chance." 

"Neither  will  they  give  your  discoverer  a  chance," 
I  laughed.  "  But  who  is  he  ?" 

"His  name  is  Ahab  Kedar  Kahn  and  he  is  a  Persian 
—  at  least  he  comes  from  Persia  although  I  believe  he 
is  a  Jew.  He  is  something  or  other  connected  with 
the  Persian  government,  and  a  proposition  he  has  just 
made  me  is  what  brings  me  here  tonight. 

"As  you  are  aware,  Persia  is  in  a  bad  way  financially 
as  well  as  organically.  He  is  here  on  a  diplomatic 
mission  which  has  something  to  do  with  systematizing 
its  finances.  It's  going  to  be  a  big  story  some  day  — 
bigger  than  any  future  development  in  the  Orient, 
unless  it  be  the  overthrow  of  the  Manchu  dynasty, 
which  I  look  upon  as  most  likely.  But  that  has 
nothing  to  do  with  Ahab's  proposition  to  me. 

"You  see  I  met  him  at  a  Gridiron  Club  dinner  in 
Washington  some  weeks  ago.  When  I  heard  he  was 
in  the  city  I  called  upon  him.  He  was  glad  to  see  me, 
particularly  as  I  speak  a  little  Persian.  It  appears  he 
has  seen  some  of  my  stuff  somewhere  and  seems  to 
think  I  am  just  the  one  to  go  over  to  Persia  and  write 
a  book  which  shall  set  that  nation  right  before  the 
world  and  create  a  sentiment  that  shall  prevent  it  from 
being  partitioned  and  absorbed  by  the  great  powers." 

"I  should  say  he  had  made  a  good  selection,"  I 


THE  UNEXPECTED  HAPPENS  49 

replied.  "I  have  no  doubt  that  you  will  do  it  well.  I 
trust  the  pay  will  be  as  satisfactory  as  the  work." 

"Quite,  He  offers  a  good  salary  while  the  work  is 
in  progress,  all  expenses  and  a  bonus  of  five  thousand 
dollars  when  the  book  is  accepted." 

"That  seems  rather  attractive." 

"Oh  yes,  but  there  is  a  stronger  incentive  than  the 
money.  You  may  remember  that  I  told  you  once 
before  that  money  never  meant  much  to  me,"  he  ex- 
plained with  a  laugh. 

"Yes,  and  I  think  now,  as  I  did  then,  that  you  are  in 
a  class  by  yourself." 

"Perhaps;  but  my  interests  regarding  this  offer  are 
quite  commonplace  I  assure  you.  First,  the  novelty 
of  a  strange  country  always  attracts  —  and  Persia  to 
me  is  full  of  romance.  Secondly  I  have  a  desire  to 
know  more  of  Ahab  Kedar  Kahn  and  his  religious 
views.  Perhaps  he  found  them  in  Persia.  Perhaps  I 
may  find  in  studying  the  ancient  history  and  religions 
of  Persia  what  I  am  after." 

I  regarded  him  earnestly  for  several  minutes  and 
then  I  asked:  "What  are  you  really  after,  anyway?" 

"A  solution  of  the  mystery  of  Being  —  its  source 
and  its  finality.  Where  did  we  come  from  and  where 
are  we  going  —  especially  the  latter." 

"Yes,"  I  laughed,  "I  cannot  see  that  it  makes  much 
difference  where  we  came  from  as  long  as  we  are  here; 
but  I  shouldn't  mind  knowing  where  we  are  going. 
What  says  this  Ahab?" 

"I  haven't  gone  into  him  that  deep  yet,"  laughed 
Douglas.  "However,  his  ideas  suggest  something 
new  and  may  help  me  to  get  sufficient  knowledge 


50  DOUGLAS 

of  the  future  to  destroy  the  skeleton  in  my  closet." 

He  laughed  a  mirthless  laugh,  and  knowing  what 
was  in  his  mind  I  said:  "You  mean  the  rats  in  your 
garret." 

"I  am  glad  that  is  the  way  you  look  at  it,"  he  said, 
"I  wish  I  could." 

"Are  you  going  to  accept  this  offer?"  I  asked  as  I 
reached  for  my  pipe  and  began  filling  it. 

"On  one  condition." 

"What's  that?"  and  I  picked  out  a  match  and 
scratched  it  on  the  side  of  the  box. 

"That  you  go  with  me." 

"What?"  I  exclaimed  stopping  and  staring  at  him 
in  wonderment. 

"You  heard  what  I  said." 

The  flame  from  the  match  burned  my  fingers. 

"Yes,"  I  exclaimed  quickly  dropping  the  ember, 
"and  I'm  glad  I  burned  myself  or  I  should  have 
thought  I  dreamed  it." 

"Why?" 

"Look  here,"  I  said  tipping  back  in  my  chair  and 
looking  him  squarely  in  the  eye,  "  do  you  see  anything 
like  insanity  in  my  face?" 

"Not  at  all;  neither  is  there  in  mine.  There  is 
absolutely  nothing  insane  about  this>  nor  is  there  any 
reason  why  you  should  not  go." 

"Except  my  job,  and  the  lack  of  money  enough  to 
pay  my  expenses  and  live  a  year  without  work." 

" What's  your  job  pay  you?" 

'"  Well,  seventy-five  a  week,  if  you  want  to  know." 

"That's  three  hundred  a  month.  I'll  guarantee 
you  at  least  one  good  magazine  story  a  month  that'll 


THE  UNEXPECTED  HAPPENS  51 

pay  you  more  than  that;  and  as  for  expenses,  I  am 
sure  Ahab  will  be  glad  to  pay  them  as  a  publicity 
fund." 

"But  this  is  a  permanent  place,"  I  replied. 

"So  Williams  thought;  but  you  see  how  quickly  he 
was  dropped  when  he  chanced  to  let  something  go  into 
the  paper  that  didn't  suit  the  man  higher  up. 

"No,  Warren,"  Douglas  continued,  "even  outside 
the  proposed  trip  to  Persia,  it's  a  whole  lot  better  to  be 
a  free  lance.  If  you  are  worth  seventy-five  a  week  to 
the  Herald,  you  are  worth  more  than  that  to  yourself." 

"Possibly  so;   but  this  thing  is  out  of  the  question." 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  said  and  there  was  genuine  dis- 
appointment in  his  voice,  "for  I  should  really  like  to 

go-" 

"Well,  can't  you  go  without  me?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  can;   but  I  won't!" 

"Why  not?" 

Douglas  removed  his  glasses  and  began  polishing 
them  on  a  piece  of  newspaper. 

"I'll  tell  you,"  he  began  as  he  slowly  rubbed  the 
lenses  between  his  thumb  and  forefinger:  "Strange  as 
it  jaay  seem,  I've  taken  a  liking  to  you.  I've  never 
had  a  chum  like  most  chaps.  I've  sort  o'  lived  alone 
with  my  fears.  I  suppose  most  people  —  doctors  at 
least  —  would  call  me  a  hopeless  neurotic;  perhaps  I 
am.  However,  I  have  my  likes  and  dislikes,  and  so, 
disagreeable  as  you  often  are,"  he  laughed,  "I've 
found  you  more  to  my  liking  than  any  other  man  I 
ever  met." 

"A  bit  left-handed,  but  I  appreciate  the  compli- 
ment," I  said. 


52  DOUGLAS 

"Besides,"  he  continued  without  noting  the  inter- 
ruption, "you're  a  good  deal  of  an  optimist  —  most 
big  men  are,  I've  noticed  —  and  you  have  a  way  of 
asserting  your  superiority  that  I  like,  because  —  well 
because  —  because  you  don't  drink  and  you  keep  me 
from  it,"  he  finished. 

I  looked  at  him  in  some  surprise  as  I  remarked:  "I 
hadn't  noticed  it." 

"Well  you  do  —  not  entirely;  but  I  drink  a  whole 
lot  less  when  I  am  with  you  than  at  any  other  time." 

"Then  you  want  me  to  go  to  Persia  with  you  as  a 
sort  of  a  guardian?"  I  laughed. 

"No,  as  a  chum.     Besides  I  feel  sorry  for  you." 

"Sorry  for  me  ?"  and  I  looked  upon  his  slight  figure 
and  pale  face  and  wondered.  "Sorry  for  me?  And 
why  pray?" 

"Because  you've  never  been  anywhere.  Of  course 
the  west  is  all  right,  but  you  need  the  experience  of 
travel." 

This  was  an  argument  I  could  not  deny.  I  had 
often  felt  my  limitation  in  this  matter,  but  I  was  not 
convinced.  However,  I  could  not  offhand  refuse  to 
go  after  such  a  confession  as  Douglas  had  just  made, 
and  so  I  said  evasively: 

"You'll  have  to  give  me  time  to  think." 

"You  can  have  until  five  o'clock  tomorrow  after- 
noon," he  replied  as  he  rose  to  leave.  "I  have  to 
give  Ahab  my  answer  at  six.  If  you  decide  I'll  fix  the 
deal." 

"All  right.  Tomorrow's  my  day  off.  I'll  meet 
you  at  the  Heidelberg  at  4  o'clock,"  and  I  turned  to  my 
work  with  about  as  much  expectation  of  complying 


THE  UNEXPECTED  HAPPENS  53 

with  his  absurd  proposition  as  I  have  of  being  Secretary 
of  State. 

But  man  proposes  and  something  else  disposes. 
When  the  boy  brought  in  the  midnight  mail  I  found 
in  it  a  letter  from  the  president  of  the  company,  then 
in  New  York,  stating  that  owing  to  the  poor  financial 
showing  of  the  previous  quarter,  he  had  decided  that  a 
general  reduction  of  expenses  was  necessary.  I  was 
instructed  to  reduce  the  local  staff,  curtail  the  special 
features,  buy  nothing  that  was  not  absolutely  neces- 
sary and  let  my  assistant  go. 

I  knew  what  such  an  order  meant  —  extra  work, 
ultimate  dissatisfaction  with  the  editorial  management 
and  my  own  subsequent  dismissal.  I  decided  then 
and  there,  that,  instead  of  discharging  my  assistant,  I 
would  discharge  myself  and  let  my  assistant  have  the 
joy  of  announcing  the  cuts  and  arranging  the  new 
order  of  things. 

When  I  met  Douglas  at  4  o'clock  the  following  after- 
noon he  had  already  heard  of  my  action  —  for  news 
of  that  sort  travels  fast  around  the  Fourth  Estate  — 
and  he  greeted  me  with  outstretched  hand. 

"I  knew  what  it  meant  as  soon  as  I  heard  it,"  he 
exclaimed,  "and  I've  already  seen  Ahab  and  made 
the  arrangements.  You  are  to  have  all  your  ex- 
penses, the  sole  right  of  anything  official  for  current 
literature,  and  quarters  with  me  during  our  stay." 

While  I  was  in  the  habit  of  acting  quickly  myself, 
the  news  rather  staggered  me,  for  Douglas  had  not 
during  our  limited  acquaintance,  ever  before  developed 
this  side  of  his  character.  He  had  taken  whatever 
came  to  him  in  a  nonchalant  manner  that  impressed 


54  DOUGLAS 

one  with  the  belief  that  work  and  money  were  a  bore; 
but,  for  the  time  being,  at  least,  he  was  changed  and 
was  activity  personified. 

"When  do  we  leave?"  I  asked. 

"At  six  tomorrow.  Have  you  any  special  arrange- 
ments ?' ' 

"Only  to  pack  my  trunk  and  write  a  few  letters. 
How  about  the  magazine  you  mentioned?" 

"We'll  see  it  as  we  pass  through  New  York." 

"How  about  yourself?"  I  asked. 

"I  have  just  one  call  to  make.  Can  you  go  with 
me?" 

"When?" 

"This  evening." 

"Man  or  woman?" 

"Woman.  Yes,  the  same  one,"  he  added  in  re- 
sponse to  my  look.  "As  I  told  you  long  ago  she's 
worth  knowing." 

"Then  you  didn't  move  that  time  after  all?" 

"Oh  yes,  I  did;  but  she  didn't.  I  still  knew  where 
to  find  her  whenever  I  was  in  town." 


CHAPTER  V 

A   TOUCH    OF   THE   FEMININE 

"I  wasn't  able  to  'phone  her,"  remarked  Douglas 
as  we  started  out  to  pay  our  call  several  hours  later, 
"but  it'll  be  all  right.  She's  always  at  home." 

"A  home  body?"  I  observed.  "I  suppose  that  is 
why  she  attracts  —  the  attraction  of  opposites." 

"Perhaps,"  he  laughed.  "At  any  rate  she  doesn't 
get  a  chance  to  go  out  much.  I  imagine  she  has  a 
pretty  hard  time  of  it,  although  there  is  every  indica- 
tion that  the  family  has  been  in  much  better  circum- 
stances." 

As  we  drew  near  the  large,  old-fashioned  house,  I 
had  in  mind  the  picture  I  had  seen  in  the  doorway 
that  morning  months  before  and  so  I  was  not  at  all 
surprised  as  we  started  up  the  steps  to  hear  a  sweet 
voice  singing: 

"Could  ye  come  back  to  me,  Douglas, 
In  the  old  likeness  that  I  knew." 

It  was  evidently  as  much  of  a  surprise  to  Douglas 
as  our  visit  was  to  the  girl  and  for  a  moment  he  hesi- 
tated as  if  he  were  about  to  turn  and  run  away;  but 
I  gave  him  no  opportunity  and  we  were  soon  at  the 
door,  which,  in  answer  to  our  ring,  was  opened  by  the 
young  woman  herself.  Of  course  her  face  flushed 

55 


56  DOUGLAS 

when  she  saw  who  it  was  —  how  could  it  help  it  — 
but  outside  of  that,  she  gave  no  indication  of  having 
been  surprised. 

Seated  in  the  large,  old-fashioned  parlor,  under  a 
chandelier  which  had  been  a  most  elaborate  affair  in 
years  gone  by,  and  clad  in  a  becoming  gown  which  no 
one  need  expect  me  to  describe,  Hester  Gordon  ap- 
peared to  me  to  fit  exactly  Douglas'  description  of  her. 
I  found  no  occasion  then,  nor  have  I  since,  to  disagree 
with  his  statement  that  she  was  well  worth  while. 

I  have  always  been  quite  susceptible  to  womanly 
beauty,  and  long  before  we  left  the  house  that  evening, 
I  found  myself  wondering  how  Douglas  could  find  it 
in  his  heart  to  leave  so  fair,  fascinating,  and  congenial 
a  friend  for  so  poor  and  tawdry  a  land  as  Persia.  I 
was  sure  that  had  there  been  such  an  attraction  to 
hold  me,  I  should  have  thought  a  long  time  before 
discharging  myself  from  even  so  trying  a  position  as 
the  managing  editor  of  the  Herald. 

Although  Douglas  declares  otherwise,  I  am  a  deal 
better  judge  of  a  news  item  than  I  am  of  women ;  but, 
at  that,  I  was  certain  that  the  announcement  of 
Douglas'  departure  for  a  year's  sojourn  in  the  orient 
was  most  unwelcome  news  to  Hester  Gordon. 

"What  can  tempt  you  to  leave  so  peaceful  and  en- 
lightened a  land  as  this,  for  so  barbarous  and  ignorant 
a  country  as  that  ? "  she  asked  with  an  effort  at  levity 
which  to  my  judgment  was  forced. 

"Barbarous  indeed!"  exclaimed  Douglas.  "Why 
Persia  was  a  land  of  learning  long  ere  the  existence  of 
this  hemisphere  was  thought  of." 

"True,"  replied  Hester,  "but  does  not  Xenophon 


A  TOUCH  OF  THE  FEMININE  57 

invariably  refer  to  them  as  barbarians  ?  And  he  was 
writing  at  a  date  much  later  than  that  to  which  you 
refer." 

"Perhaps  Xenophon  was  prejudiced,"  I  laughed. 
"His  writings  always  impress  me  as  similar  to  political 
editorials  —  decidedly  colored  from  the  writer's  view- 
point." 

"They  undoubtedly  were,"  replied  Douglas,  "for 
any  one  will  admit  that  the  religion  of  the  Persians 
was  a  deal  nearer  the  truth  than  the  mythology  of 
Greece,  with  its  scores  of  gods  and  goddesses  moved 
and  controlled  by  the  very  worst  of  human  passions." 

"And  I  have  Douglas'  assurance,  Miss  Gordon,"  I 
interrupted  with  a  laugh,  "that  the  great  reason 
why  he  wishes  to  visit  Persia  is  the  hope  that  he  may 
find  in  the  old  Persian  religion  something  that  will 
answer  his  unanswerable  questions  regarding  the  past 
and  the  future." 

The  girl  looked  at  me  quite  seriously  for  a  moment 
and  then  replied  with  a  little  rippling  laugh:  "If  he 
will  take  care  of  the  present,  I  do  not  think  he  need 
concern  himself  about  the  future.  As  for  the  past 
that  is  gone." 

"True,"  I  replied,  "and  as  for  the  future  we  never 
reach  it." 

"That  is  the  way  I  have  been  taught,"  Hester 
replied.  "There  is  no  time  but  now." 

"No,"  interrupted  Douglas  with  that  same  fierce- 
ness which  so  often  characterized  his  speech,  "but 
there  is  eternity." 

"Yes,  and  we  are  living  in  it,"  replied  Miss  Gordon, 
quickly. 


58  DOUGLAS 

"But  I  do  not  think  Mr.  Warren  came  up  here  to 
hear  you  and  I  discuss  our  religious  beliefs  —  now  did 
you  ?  "  turning  to  me. 

"I  came  up  because  Douglas  asked  me  —  for  which 
I  am  under  deep  obligations.  I  certainly  should 
regret  having  left  the  United  States  without  meeting 
you,  Miss  Gordon." 

"I  fear  you  are  a  flatterer." 

"On  the  contrary,  I  haven't  made  it  as  strong  as  I 
feel.  I  am  sure  if  I  were  Douglas  I  wouldn't  go." 

The  girl  colored  but  Douglas  was  adjusting  his  eye- 
glasses and  did  not  notice  it.  If  my  impertinent 
speech  caused  her  any  embarrassment  she  quickly 
hid  it  by  remarking: 

"I  shouldn't  mind  visiting  Persia  and  the  Orient 
myself,  under  favorable  conditions." 

"That  is  why  I  agreed  to  keep  Douglas  company," 
I  replied.  "No  condition  could  be  more  favorable." 

"Not  for  a  couple  of  Bohemians,"  she  laughed. 

"There  is  nothing  Bohemian  about  this,"  declared 
Douglas.  "  Officially  we  are  going  as  members  of  the 
royal  household.  Our  private  purpose  is  even  more 
respectable." 

"Indeed,  and  may  I  know  what  it  is?" 

Douglas  hesitated  and  I  replied:  "To  indulge  in 
the  intoxication  of  adventure  and  to  study  primitive 
religion." 

"Both  of  which,"  added  Hester  decidedly,  "are 
much  healthier  conditions  of  mind  than  are  found  in 
the  life  you  newspaper  men  lead." 

"We're  not  so  bad,  Miss  Gordon." 

"No,  not  as  men  look  at  things,  but  — " 


A  TOUCH  OF  THE  FEMININE  59 

' ' But  me  no  buts,' "  interrupted  Douglas.  "Warren 
is  the  most  circumspect  and  conservative  of  men." 

"I  certainly  am  glad  he  is  going  with  you,"  replied 
Hester  earnestly. 

"Yes,  I  know  I  need  looking  after." 

The  smile  on  Hester's  lips  died  away  as  she  replied 
a  bit  sadly,  I  thought: 

"I'm  afraid  you  do.  However,  in  the  land  of  past 
splendor  and  strange  religions  you  may  find  some  one 
who,  like  Moore's  peri  will  point 

'  out  the  road 

'  For  some  pure  spirit  to  the  blest  abode.' " 

"If  he  had  said  some  impure  spirit,  it  would  have 
come  much  nearer  fitting  my  case,"  he  replied. 

"Douglas!"  the  girl  exclaimed  under  her  breath. 

Douglas  looked  at  her  in  such  a  surprised  and 
quizzical  manner  that  it  flashed  upon  me  in  an  instant 
that,  as  upon  a  former  occasion,  she  had  been  surprised 
into  thus  addressing  him.  Furthermore,  I  am  fully 
persuaded  that  had  Douglas  had  the  same  belief  re- 
garding Hester's  attitude  toward  him  when  he  went 
to  the  house  that  evening  that  he  had  when  he  left  an 
hour  later  he  would  not  have  been  in  such  haste  to 
close  the  bargain  with  Ahab  Kahn. 

I  am  further  moved  to  make  this  statement,  because 
I  have  since  discovered  that  in  spite  of  his  years  of 
roving,  Douglas  has  always  been  a  home-lover  and  an 
ardent  admirer  of  the  good  and  pure  in  woman  —  but 
he  has  always  been  too  bashful  to  express  to  them 
this  admiration.  In  fact,  the  only  real  conviction 
he  had  ever  had  up  to  the  time  I  met  him  —  that 


CO  DOUGLAS 

heaven  was  attainable  to  earth  dwellers,  came  through 
his  boyhood  experience  with  a  pure  and  womanly 
thought. 

Now  that  I  have  referred  to  this  early  episode  I 
think  it  might  be  wise  to  tell  you  something,  very 
briefly,  of  his  boyhood.  I  say  wise,  for  I  feel  that 
such  an  account  of  his  youthful  education  and 
environments  will  explain,  better  than  any  reason  I 
can  give,  the  cause  of  his  present  condition  of 
thought. 

In  relating  this  most  interesting  episode,  I  must 
lead  up  to  it  by  explaining  that  Douglas'  earliest  recol- 
lection of  himself  —  and  he  has  no  other  record  than 
his  memory  to  go  by,  being  without  hereditary  kith  or 
kin  —  begins  when  he  was  digging  holes  in  a  sand- 
bank just  back  of  an  old  red  school-house  from  which 
came  the  hum  of  children's  voices.  Douglas  was  not 
old  enough  to  go  to  school,  so  he  used  to  play  about 
barefooted  in  the  sand  until  the  children  came  out  for 
recess,  or  noon.  Then  he  would  join  the  youngest  ones, 
first  having  hidden  the  yellow  sunbonnet  which  his 
Puritanical  grandmother  insisted  that  he  should  wear. 

How  he  did  hate  that  yellow  sunbonnet,  or  more 
correctly  speaking,  those  yellow  sunbonnets.  He 
often  wondered  where  his  grandmother  found  the 
cloth  out  of  which  to  make  them.  Finally  he  came  to 
the  conclusion  that  God  must  have  given  it  to  her,  for 
to  Douglas,  God  seemed  to  have  made  about  all  the 
disagreeable  things  in  life. 

As  the  boy  grew  older  this  impression  was  strength- 
ened by  this  same  Puritanical  and  conscientiously 
good  grandmother  and  by  the  heated  theological  dis- 


A.  TOUCH  OF  THE  FEMININE  61 

cussions  which  were  a  daily  part  of  Douglas'  home 
life.  He  used  to  look  at  his  grandmother  with  awe  as 
she  expounded  the  creed  of  fallen  man  to  her  sons, 
daughters  and  "in-laws,"  among  whom  were  Douglas' 
parents  —  and  wonder  how  she  knew  so  much  about 
heaven  and  hell.  She  did  not  look  to  him  as  though 
she  had  ever  been  to  either  place.  Then  he  would 
watch  her  as  she  pored  over  the  big  Bible  and  com- 
mentaries and  wonder  if  that  was  where  she  got  her 
information. 

Sometimes  she  would  tell  him  nice  stories  out  of  the 
Bible,  but  her  favorite  one  was  about  Elisha,  especially 
that  part  where  some  children  mocked  him  and  cried 
out:  "Go  up  thou  bald  head!"  By  the  time  she 
reached  this  part,  Douglas  with  wide-opened  eyes 
waited  for  the  rest,  although  he  knew  it  by  heart. 

"And  Elisha  turned  back,"  his  grandmother  would 
say,  "and  cursed  them  in  the  name  of  the  Lord.  And 
there  came  forth  two  she-bears  out  of  the  woods  and 
tare  forty  and  two  children  of  them." 

Douglas  would  always  exclaim,  "Oh!"  and  every 
time  he  would  see  old  Mr.  Beardsley,  with  his  long 
gray  beard  and  his  shiny  bald  pate,  the  boy  would 
wonder  what  would  happen  if  he  should  say  "Go  up, 
bald  head!"  The  only  thing  that  kept  him  from  try- 
ing was  fear  of  the  she-bears. 

In  this  same  way  he  would  like  to  have  done  a  lot  of 
other  things  that  were  done  by  the  wicked  children  in 
the  Bible,  but  was  prevented  by  fear.  He  was  sure  if 
he  did  them  he  would  be  eaten  up  by  she-bears  and 
after  that  be  burned  in  an  everlasting  fire. 

Sometimes  Douglas  saw  his  grandmother  do  things 


62  DOUGLAS 

that  he  did  not  think  were  just  right  and  he  wondered 
if  she,  too,  were  not  afraid  of  being  burned. 

As  Douglas  grew,  this  fear  of  future  punishment 
grew  with  him.  As  he  became  old  enough  to  distin- 
guish more  clearly  between  the  things  his  grandmother 
and  her  Bible  taught  him  he  should  do,  and  the  things 
he  did  do,  he  discovered  that  he  was  doing  hardly  any- 
thing in  a  manner  which  would  not  bring  punish- 
ment. 

When  he  was  about  seven  he  was  forbidden  to  go 
in  swimming.  When  he  saw  all  the  other  boys  going 
in,  the  temptation  was  too  great  and  he  disobeyed. 
When  his  mother  undressed  him  that  night  she  found 
he  had  his  shirt  on  wrong  side  out.  She  immediately 
guessed  the  truth  and  asked  him  about  it. 

"Haven't  you  been  in  swimming?"  she  asked. 

"No,  ma'am!"  he  replied. 

"Then  how  did  your  shirt  come  to  be  on  wrong 
side  out?" 

"I  took  my  clothes  off  and  ran  up  and  down  the 
bank  of  the  creek  to  get  cool,"  was  the  hesitating 
reply. 

The  absurdity  of  the  story  was  too  much  for  the 
mother's  sense  of  humor  and  she  burst  into  a  laugh, 
which  saved  him  a  whipping;  but  the  knowledge  of 
the  lie  made  the  child's  life  a  burden  to  him  for  days. 

"I've  told  a  lie,"  he  kept  saying  to  himself,  "and 
I'll  have  to  go  to  hell." 

He  was  afraid  to  go  to  bed  in  the  dark  and  he  was 
afraid  to  go  to  sleep.  He  tried  to  tell  his  mother,  but 
she  just  laughed.  He  didn't  dare  tell  his  grandmother, 
because  he  was  sure  she  was  so  well  acquainted  with 


A  TOUCH  OF  THE  FEMININE  63 

God  that  she  would  tell  Him  all  about  it  and  He  would 
simply  be  angrier  than  ever. 

Fear  of  future  punishment  brought  with  it  that  fear 
of  death  which  had  since  become  such  a  part  of  him. 
It  was  not  the  fear  of  the  pain  of  dying,  for  it  never 
occurred  to  the  boy  that  it  would  hurt  to  die.  It  was 
the  fear  of  what  might  happen  after  death;  and  the 
older  he  grew  and  the  more  he  was  able  to  realize  that 
most  of  the  thoughts  which  filled  his  mind  were  not 
holy  thoughts,  the  greater  became  his  fear  of  the  future. 

One  day  it  dawned  upon  him  that  the  only  time  he 
was  not  thinking  about  the  future  was  when  he  was 
busy  playing,  or  was  so  interested  in  something  else 
that  he  forgot  the  future. 

Right  then  and  there  he  determined  that  he  would 
always  be  so  busy  that  he  would  not  have  the  time  to 
think  of  the  future.  From  that  time  on  he  became 
one  of  the  most  active  children,  where  previously  he 
had  been  one  of  the  quietest.  He  went  from  one  thing 
to  another  with  an  activity  that  caused  his  family  to 
remark  upon  his  untiring  energy.  He  was  always 
busy.  He  preferred  to  play,  but  he  would  study.  No 
game  was  too  strenuous,  no  adventure  too  hazardous 
to  deter  him  from  engaging  in  it.  To  illustrate: 

The  winter  that  Douglas  was  eight,  there  were  in 
the  school  a  number  of  big  boys,  right  off  the  farm. 
They  were  almost  men  and  fit  to  go  out  into  the  world, 
and  he  heard  much  talk  from  some  of  them  that  they 
were  about  to  run  away  and  go  west.  Douglas  sug- 
gested that  he  would  like  to  go,  too,  but  they  laughed 
at  him.  The  thought  of  it,  however,  filled  his  waking 
hours  to  the  exclusion  of  all  else.  It  seemed  the  one 


64  DOUGLAS 

thing  necessary  to  keep  his  mind  off  the  distant  future. 
The  longer  he  thought  about  it,  the  more  decided  he 
was  to  go,  and  so  one  March  afternoon,  having 
persuaded  a  boy  about  his  own  age  that  he  could  easily 
make  a  living  for  the  two  of  them,  they  started  for  the 
city  some  dozen  miles  awayc 

Fortunately  for  them  they  took  the  railroad  track 
which  passed  the  neighborhood  about  half  a  mile  from 
the  school  house.  Three  or  four  miles  from  home 
they  encountered  a  gang  of  section  men  who  questioned 
them  sharply.  Upon  discovering  what  they  were  up 
to,  the  boss,  who  later  became  a  great  friend  of  Douglas, 
sent  them  home  saying: 

"Sure  if  yez  don't  go  straight  back  to  yer  home,  I'll 
be  after  takin'  yez  back  to  the  village  and  havin'  yez 
locked  up." 

His  companion  took  a  short  cut  across  lots  to  his 
father's  farm,  while  Douglas  trudged  back  up  the 
track  in  the  gathering  darkness,  stirred  inside  to  the 
boiling  point  with  mingled  disappointment,  fear,  and 
hatred  of  the  men  who  had  interfered  with  his  plans. 

Along  about  this  time,  his  parents  having  moved  to 
town,  another  phase  of  his  malady  took  possession  of 
him. 

If  there  is  any  one  who  thinks  that  the  term  malady 
does  not  define  the  thing  that  was  troubling  Douglas, 
let  him  study  his  dictionary. 

Having  always  been  a  Sunday-school  scholar, 
Douglas  now  felt  that  his  only  salvation  from  endless 
future  punishment  lay  in  getting  religion,  The  op- 
portunity came  with  the  week  of  prayer,  which  in  many 
small  towns  marks  the  end  of  the  holidays,  and  the 


A  TOUCH  OF  THE  FEMININE  65 

series  of  protracted  meetings  which  followed  and  were 
expected  to  bring  in  a  religious  revival. 

If  you  have  never  lived  in  a  little  town  you  cannot 
understand  what  that  word  revival  means  to  most  young 
people.  It  is  the  time  when  all  the  religious  sentiment 
in  the  village  is  aroused,  and  professed  Christians  and 
church  members  set  about  convincing  the  rest  of  the 
village  that  they  are  condemned  sinners,  whose  only 
salvation  consists  in  accepting  the  orthodox  idea  of 
God  and  His  Christ.  If  there  are  a  number  of  religious 
denominations  in  the  village,  they  usually  start  in  with 
union  services  and  these  continue  to  a  point  where  a 
large  number  have  been  converted  —  as  the  term 
goes. 

Then,  to  acquire  a  complete  salvation,  the  convert 
must  join  one  of  the  churches.  Here  the  way  of  salva- 
tion diverges.  One  set  of  Christians  decide  that  you 
must  be  immersed.  Another  is  satisfied  if  you  are 
sprinkled.  One  decides  that  only  the  elect  shall  par- 
take of  the  communion  and  another  invites  all  who 
desire  to  commune.  Instead  of  religion  pure  and 
undefiled,  the  new  convert  is  dosed  with  doctrine,  and 
if  he  happens  —  like  Douglas  —  to  be  only  a  boy  of 
twelve,  it  is  pretty  easy  to  imagine  the  result.  He 
joins  the  church  to  which  his  parents  belong  and  ac- 
cepts their  beliefs  as  best  he  can  until  he  is  old  enough 
to  think  for  himself. 

This  is  exactly  what  Douglas  did.  He  attended  the 
revival  meetings,  listened  to  the  preaching,  singing, 
and  exhortations;  became  convinced  that  there  was  a 
way  of  salvation ;  was  filled  with  a  strong  desire  to  find 
it,  accepted  his  grandmother's  explanation  of  the  way 


66  DOUGLAS 

and  joined  the  church  to  which  his  family  had  belonged 
ever  since  the  Pilgrims  landed  on  Plymouth  Rock. 

For  a  time  he  felt  better.  Buoyed  up  with  the  ex- 
citement of  the  season,  his  fear  seemed  to  leave  him 
and  he  felt  that  he  had  escaped  that  punishment  with 
which  he  had  been  threatened.  He  tried  to  do  better 
and  felt  more  light-hearted  than  for  years.  He  be- 
came more  active  in  church  work  and  had  a  kindlier 
feeling  for  every  one.  The  following  winter  there  was 
another  revival  and  he  was  among  the  most  interested 
of  the  young  people.  A  noted  evangelist  was  secured 
to  lead  the  meetings  and  on  the  first  night  he  opened 
his  talk  by  asking: 

"If  you  should  die  tonight  where  would  you  go ?" 

Douglas  gave  a  mental  start. 

The  evangelist  repeated  the  question.  Mentally 
Douglas  tried  to  answer  it.  He  looked  about  at  the 
others.  They,  too,  seemed  to  be  trying  to  answer  it. 
Then  he  went  back  into  himself.  The  rest  of  the 
preacher's  words  were  lost.  He  could  only  keep  re- 
peating to  himself  the  question:  "If  I  should  die 
tonight,  where  should  I  go?" 

He  was  sure  he  could  not  tell. 

During  the  past  year  Douglas  had  almost  ceased  to 
think  of  death.  He  had  only  been  trying  to  do  better. 
He  had  been  so  comfortable  in  doing  good,  that  death 
seemed  a  faraway  event.  Now  it  was  presented  to 
him  as  the  one  question  to  be  answered.  What  were  all 
his  good  deeds?  He  had  been  taught  that  man  was 
not  saved  by  good  deeds,  but  by  the  sacrifice  of  another. 

But  now  even  this  was  forgotten.  The  main  thing 
was,  that  some  time,  if  not  tonight,  he  must  die,  and 


A  TOUCH  OF  THE  FEMININE  67 

then  where  would  he  go  ?  He  was  absolutely  certain 
that  he  did  not  know. 

He  went  home  from  the  meeting  in  a  daze,  his  old 
fears  filling  his  mind.  All  night  he  pondered  and  slept 
little.  The  following  morning  he  was  cross  and  more 
disturbed  than  ever,  and  when  at  the  breakfast  table 
the  evangelist's  talk  of  the  night  before  came  up  for 
discussion  he  said  nothing  until  his  grandmother  said 
to  his  grandfather: 

"It  must  have  set  people  to  thinking.  If  you  were 
to  die  tonight,  father,  where  would  you  go?" 

And  her  husband,  who  gave  no  attention  whatever 
to  religious  matters,  replied :  "I  don't  know.  Do 
you?" 

"To  heaven,  if  I  am  good  enough,"  was  the  em- 
phatic reply. 

"Well,  are  you  good  enough?" 

Douglas  waited  eagerly  for  her  reply.  When  it  was 
not  at  once  forthcoming  he  exclaimed  in  a  manner  so 
excited  as  to  draw  the  attention  of  all  upon  him: 
"Yes,  grandma,  are  you  good  enough?" 

The  aged  woman's  face  flushed  as  she  replied 
meekly  with  tears  in  her  voice:  "I  don't  know." 

It  was  no  answer  to  Douglas  and  his  heart  sank 
within  him.  In  his  stunned  condition  he  failed  utterly 
to  grasp  the  import  of  his  grandfather's  reply,  who, 
with  more  insight  into  the  nature  of  God  than  most 
men  of  his  day,  said  softly  to  his  aged  wife: 

"You  needn't  worry,  Nancy.     I  know." 

But  Douglas  didn't  know  and  his  grandmother's 
confessed  ignorance  of  the  future  caused  him  to  doubt 
if  there  were  any  one  in  the  world  good  enough  to  be 


68  DOUGLAS 

saved  from  the  punishment  which  he  was  sure  was  the 
ultimate  fate  of  the  wicked  —  a  doubt  which  aroused 
within  him  the  latent  fear  which  had  never  been 
destroyed  and  which  continued  with  him  until  finally 
destroyed  by  the  revelation  which  changed  his  very 
being. 

What  might  have  been  the  immediate  effect  of  this 
loss  of  faith  in  human  goodness  it  is  difficult  to  say, 
had  not  Douglas  suddenly  experienced  an  entirely  new 
sensation,  and  this  brings  me  up  to  the  episode  I  wish 
to  relate. 

The  indirect  cause  of  this  new  sensation  was  the 
arrival  of  a  strange  family  in  the  village.  The 
direct  cause  was  a  pair  of  roguish  eyes  that 
glanced  up  at  Douglas  through  a  wealth  of  wavy  hair 
as  he  passed  the  house  of  the  newcomers  the  following 
afternoon. 

Her  name,  as  Douglas  afterwards  learned,  was 
Millie  Coy;  but  the  first  sight  of  her  as  she  swung  airily 
on  the  front  gate,  clad  in  dainty  white,  with  a  red 
ribbon  at  her  throat  and  a  red  rose  in  her  hair,  drove 
all  thought  of  so  inconsequential  a  thing  as  a  name 
out  of  his  mind.  He  could  only  think  of  those  eyes 
and  their  witchery. 

The  fact  that  Douglas  fell  in  love  with  Millie  at  first 
sight  was  convincing  proof  of  his  good  taste  and 
stamped  him  at  once  a  competent  judge  of  feminine 
loveliness,  for  a  more  beautiful  child  than  Millie  Coy 
could  not  have  been  found  in  the  entire  length  and 
breadth  of  the  Empire  state.  Her  hair  and  eyes  were 
raven  black,  her  cheeks  were  as  red  as  the  proverbial 


A  TOUCH  OF  THE  FEMININE  69 

peony,  while  otherwise  her  skin  was  as  fair  as  that 
other  emblematic  flower  —  the  lily. 

In  that  first  glance  the  whole  world  changed  —  for 
Douglas.  In  place  of  the  fear  which  had  possessed 
him,  there  came  into  his  consciousness  the  realization 
that  there  was  something  worth  living  for  after  all.  It 
was  as  though  he  had  unexpectedly  met  an  angel  — 
and  who  shall  say  that  the  uplifting  thought  which 
came  to  the  boy  through  this  glimpse  of  the  beautiful, 
was  not  an  angel  visitant  sent  from  the  source  of  all 
beauty.  It  would  by  no  means  be  the  first  time  that 
a  pure  thought  —  proving  itself  the  angel  of  a  divine 
presence  —  has  come  to  mankind  through  the  pure, 
spiritual  consciousness  of  woman;  nor  was  it  the  last, 
as  Douglas  was  one  day  to  learn. 

Although  it  had  been  easy  and  pleasurable  to  fall 
in  love,  Douglas  found  it  was  by  no  means  so  easy  to 
make  his  feelings  known  to  the  object  of  his  adoration. 
While  it  appeared  that  every  one  else  in  the  village 
quickly  discovered  his  preference  for  Millie,  she 
seemed  totally  unconscious  of  it  —  apparently  devot- 
ing less  thought  and  time  to  him  than  to  any  other  of 
the  village  boys.  His  offerings  of  fruits,  flowers,  and 
confections. —  the  latter  acquired  at  considerable  sacri- 
fice on  his  part  —  were  always  accepted,  but  in  a 
manner  that  failed  to  inspire  him  with  the  hope  that 
he  was  gaining  any  especial  place  in  her  good  graces. 
While  he  could  see  how  popular  she  was,  he  could  not 
see  how  it  happened  that  she  was  always  so  busy  when- 
ever he  had  anything  special  he  wanted  to  tell  her. 

So  it  ran  along  until  the  annual  Sunday  school  picnic, 


70  DOUGLAS 

which  was  held  in  a  grove  located  some  two  miles 
from  the  village  on  an  artificial  lake  caused  by  the 
overflow  of  the  water  from  the  canal,  which  was  a 
feature  of  that  section.  Several  of  the  boys  of  Douglas' 
age  and  a  bit  older,  chartered  a  small  steam  launch 
for  the  day  and  made  frequent  trips  from  the  village 
to  the  grove. 

As  the  boat  approached  the  landing-place  on  one  of 
these  trips,  a  group  of  girls  —  among  them  Millie  — 
gathered  on  the  little  dock  awaiting  the  arrival  of  the 
launch.  Seeing  the  girls  thus  expectant,  two  of  the 
boys  thought  it  a  fine  opportunity  to  "show  off,"  as 
the  saying  goes,  and  in  an  attempt  to  make  a  flying 
leap  from  the  boat  to  the  dock,  they  gave  the  launch 
such  a  shock  that  Douglas,  standing  in  the  bow  ready 
to  make  the  boat  fast  to  a  snubbing  post,  was  thrown 
into  the  water. 

It  is  doubtful  if  the  water  were  deep  enough  to  have 
drowned  a  good-sized  boy,  even  though  there  had  been 
no  help  at  hand ;  but  to  the  girls  on  the  dock  it  looked 
like  a  terrible  accident,  and,  with  the  exception  of  Millie 
they  set  up  a  shriek  which  quickly  drew  a  crowd  to 
the  shore.  Millie,  however,  with  the  most  presence 
of  mind  of  all  who  witnessed  the  accident,  ran  to 
Douglas'  assistance,  and  with  the  help  of  a  long  fishing 
pole,  which  had  been  left  on  the  dock  by  some  stray 
fisherman,  succeeded  in  pulling  the  lad  to  the  shore. 
Then,  dripping  as  he  was,  she  proudly  took  him  by 
the  arm  and  escorted  him  to  a  nearby  farm-house 
where  he  was  soon  arrayed  in  a  suit  of  dry  garments, 
the  apparel  of  one  of  the  farmer's  boys. 

From  this  time  on  Douglas  had  no  cause  to  complain 


A  TOUCH  OF  THE  FEMININE  71 

of  Millie's  attitude  towards  him.  For  many  months 
they  were  professed  sweethearts  and  in  this  pleasant 
companionship  Douglas  forgot  the  danger  of  the  future 
in  the  joy  of  the  present. 

The  following  spring  Millie  fell  a  victim  to  an  epi- 
demic which  ravaged  the  village  and  turned  many  a 
home  of  happiness  into  one  of  sorrow.  Both  Millie 
and  Douglas  were  stricken  —  Millie  first  —  and  each 
day  until  he  became  bound  by  delirium,  his  foremost 
waking  thoughts  were  for  her. 

Then  came  days  when  all  to  him  was  blank. 
There  were  hushed  voices  and  ceaseless  watches,  to  all 
of  which  he  was  unconscious;  but  when  at  last 
the  crisis  had  passed  and  he  came  to  himself,  his  first 
question  was  about  Millie.  For  days  his  question  was 
evaded,  until  finally  it  could  be  kept  from  him  no 
longer  and  then  they  told  him  that  she  was  dead. 

For  hours  thereafter  he  lay  stunned,  saying  nothing — 
but  with  wide-open  eyes  gazing  either  at  the  ceiling  or 
the  bits  of  the  sky  he  could  see  through  the  trees.  It 
was  the  first  time  that  he  had  come  face  to  face  with 
death  and  in  the  loss  of  his  boyhood's  sweetheart  he 
felt  that  death  had  proved  itself  stronger  than  life  — 
stronger  than  love.  Even  in  his  weakened  condition 
he  had  a  feeling  of  anger  that  there  could  be  any  power 
which  could  so  deprive  him  of  happiness,  and  he 
wondered  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  if  the  power 
which  had  done  this  really  could  be  God. 

This  experience  brought  to  him  one  consolation. 
He  felt  sure  that  at  least  one  had  passed  from  earth 
who  was  good  enough  to  go  to  heaven.  He  had  no 
doubt  as  to  where  Millie  was;  but  would  he  ever  again 


72  DOUGLAS 

be  able  to  see  her?  That  was  the  question.  In  his 
weakened  condition,  he  did  not  seem  to  himself  as 
wicked  as  when  he  was  up  and  living  the  more  active 
life.  Perhaps  he  wasn't  so  bad  after  all.  Maybe, 
some  day,  he  would  be  able  to  go  to  heaven.  There 
also  rang  in  his  ears  the  words  of  a  song  then  much  in 
vogue,  and  in  the  words  of  that  song,  Millie  seemed  to 
him  like  "the  little  white  angel,"  who 

"Stood  ever  beside  the  portal 

"Sorrowing  all  the  day, 
"And  she  said  to  the  stately  warden 

"He  of  the  golden  bar  ; 
"O  Angel,  sweet  Angel,  I  pray  you 

"Let  the  beautiful  gates  ajar 
"Only  a  little  I  pray  you. 

"Let  the  beautiful  gates  ajar." 

As  in  the  song,  the  prayer  of  the  little  child  angel 
prevailed  for  the  sake  of  "the  sad-eyed  mother,"  so 
Douglas  hoped  that  maybe  Millie  might  induce  the 
warden  to  leave  the  gates  ajar  for  him;  and  he  sang 
over  and  over  again  to  himself  the  words: 

"Then  turned  was  the  key  in  the  portal, 

"Fell  ringing  the  golden  bar  — 
"And  held  in  the  child  angel's  fingers 

"Stood  the  gates  forever  ajar." 

When  Douglas  was  able  to  be  up  and  around,  some 
one  suggested  to  him  that  he  should  visit  the  place 
where  they  had  laid  Millie,  but  he  would  not. 
"She  isn't  there,"  he  said.     "She  is  in  heaven." 
Of  this  there  was  not  the  slightest  doubt  in  his  mind, 
and  is  there  any  one  who  dare  deny  that  the  Millie 


A  TOUCH  OF  THE  FEMININE  73 

whom  Douglas  knew  —  the  good,  the  beautiful,  the 
pure  which  she  manifested  —  was  and  is  forever  in 
that  realm  of  perfect  harmony,  which  human  eye  hath 
not  seen  and  which  is  the  eternal  abode  of  all  them 
that  love  good. 

Why  is  it,  some  one  may  ask,  that  in  telling  this 
story  of  Douglas,  thoughts  of  Millie  Coy  and  Hester 
Gordon  should  be  so  closely  allied  ?  I  cannot  tell.  I 
only  know  that  they  are. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   FAITH    OF   AHAB 

TIME  spent  in  travel  passes  so  quickly  and  events 
follow  each  other  in  such  rapid  succession,  that  it 
seems  impossible  to  keep  track  of  them  in  their 
proper  order.  Therefore  I  shall  not  try.  It  is  suffi- 
cient for  the  purpose  of  this  story  to  know  that  we  are 
now  on  board  an  ocean  steamship  —  not  one  of  the 
ocean  greyhounds  of  the  regular  line  —  but  a  slow- 
going  vessel,  bound  for  the  Mediterranean. 

The  passengers  on  the  Carthagenia  —  so  she  is 
named  —  are  composed  largely  of  excursionists  bound 
for  a  three-months'  tour  of  the  Orient,  including  the 
Holy  Land.  As  may  be  expected,  therefore,  Bible 
students  are  as  thick  on  board  as  flies  around  the 
proverbial  molasses  barrel. 

Among  this  crowd  of  pilgrims,  Douglas  and  Ahab 
were,  right  from  the  start,  in  their  element.  I  could 
never  sit  down  for  a  nice,  quiet  smoke  and  chat  with 
either  one  of  them  that  something  in  the  Bible  did 
not  come  up  for  discussion.  They  would  tackle  any- 
thing from  Genesis  to  Revelation,  especially  the 
prophecies  and  the  gospels. 

Neither  of  them,  however,  was  particularly  inter- 
ested in  the  history  of  the  Holy  Land  They  did  not 
seem  to  consider  that  anything  more  wonderful  had 

74 


THE  FAITH  OF  AHAB  75 

happened  there,  than  in  any  other  place  where  the 
problems  of  life  are  to  be  worked  out.  Ahab  was 
strong  on  the  prophets  and  Douglas  on  the  gospels. 
They  occasionally  referred  to  the  doings  of  the 
Children  of  Israel,  but  simply  as  a  matter  of  ancient 
history,  which  was  worth  just  as  much  —  as  a  lesson  — 
as  the  history  of  any  other  by-gone  nation.  The 
faith  of  the  Israelites,  however,  was  one  thing  which 
impressed  Ahab.  Beyond  that,  both  he  and  Douglas 
referred  to  them  as  a  lot  of  has-beens  —  much  as  a 
bunch  of  newspaper  men  might  discuss  the  achieve- 
ments of  Greeley  or  Dana — as  all  right  for  their  time, 
but  not  of  any  value  now. 

"It  is  no  wonder,"  I  declared  after  listening  for 
some  minutes  to  one  of  these  discussions,  as  we  were 
sailing  along  over  the  blue  waters  of  the  Atlantic  one 
starlight  night,  "that  you  fellows  live  in  constant 
dread  of  some  terrible  future." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  queried  Douglas. 

"Why,  if  I  were  living  continually  on  the  ragged 
edge  of  eternity,  as  you  seem  to  be,  unable  to  deter- 
mine in  your  own  mind  who  or  what  the  power  is  that 
rules  the  universe,  I,  too,  would  be  afraid  to  live  and 
more  afraid  to  die." 

"I  have  no  fear  of  either  the  present  or  the  future," 
said  Ahab  emphatically.  "I  discuss  these  matters 
simply  as  a  topic  of  conversation;  nothing  more.  I 
believe  that  God  is  good  and  that  in  the  end  every 
thing  will  be  found  good.  I  believe  that  man  is 
saved  with  an  everlasting  salvation,  as  the  scriptures 
declare.  It  is  not  reasonable  to  believe  that  God 
created  all  things  only  for  the  sake  of  destroying  them." 


76  DOUGLAS 

"That's  simply  your  opinion,"  replied  Douglas. 
"You  have  no  proof." 

"My  proof  is  within  me,"  exclaimed  Ahab.  "I 
feel  that  I  am  immortal.  But  you  —  you  who  believe 
that  Jesus,  whom  you  name  the  Christ,  arose  from 
the  dead  —  certainly  you  should  have  no  fear  for  the 
future.  If  one  man  were  able  to  raise  himself  from 
the  dead,  all  should  be  — " 

"Provided  they  knew  how,"  interrupted  Douglas. 

"Why  should  you  need  to  know  how,  provided  you 
have  faith,"  insisted  Ahab.  "Moses  didn't  know 
how  the  Children  of  Israel  were  going  to  be  saved 
from  the  Red  Sea;  he  did  not  care.  It  was  enough 
for  him  to  know  that  God  could  save  them  some  way. 
When  the  time  came,  there  was  the  dry  path.  Why 
not  pray  and  do  as  Moses  did  ?"* 

"That's  different." 

"Why?  Didn't  death  at  the  hands  of  the  Egyp- 
tians seem  just  as  bad  as  any  other  death  —  and  it 
was  right  at  hand  ?  " 

"Yes;  but  Moses  had  been  pulled  out  of  so  many 
tight  places  and  seen  so  many  wonders,  he  was  ready 
to  believe  anything." 


*Mos5Es'  PRAYER  AT  THE  RED  SEA.  Thou  art  not  ignorant,  O  Lord,  that 
it  is  beyond  human  strength  and  human  contrivance  to  avoid  the  diffi- 
culties we  are  now  under;  but  it  must  be  thy  work  altogether  to  procure 
deliverance  to  this  army  which  has  left  Egypt  at  thy  appointment.  We 
despair  of  any  other  assistance  or  contrivance,  and  have  recourse  only  to 
that  hope  we  have  in  thee:  and  if  there  be  any  method  that  can  promise 
us  an  escape  by  thy  providence,  we  look  up  to  thee  for  it.  And  let  it  corne 
quickly  and  manifest  thy  power  to  us;  and  do  thou  raise  up  this  people 
unto  good  courage  and  hope  of  deliverance,  who  are  deeply  sunk  into  a 
desolate  state  of  mind.  We  are  in  a  helpless  place,  but  still  it  is  a  place 
that  thou  possesses!;  still  the  sea  is  thine,  the  mountains  that  enclose  us 
are  thine;  so  that  these  mountains  will  open  themselves  if  thou  com- 
mandest  them  and  the  sea,  also,  if  thou  commandest  it,  will  become  dry 
land.  Nay,  we  might  escape  by  a  flight  through  the  air  if  thou  shouldst 
so  determine  we  should  have  that  way  of  salvation.  —  Flavins  Josephus, 

Book  II,  Chap.  XVI. 


THE  FAITH  OF  AHAB  77 

Ahab  shook  his  head.  "That  isn't  what  I  am  talk- 
ing about.  You  men  from  the  western  world  seem 
unable  to  sustain  a  logical  argument.  You  are 
always  going  off  at  a  tangent." 

"Well,  what  do  you  want  me  to  admit?"  asked 
Douglas  testily. 

"Simply  that  there  is  a  power — an  omnipotent  power 
whom  we  call  God —  who  always  has  taken  care  of 
those  who  had  faith  in  Him  and  who  always  will  — 
and  we  do  not  need  to  concern  ourselves  further. 
This  Power  made  man  immortal  and  is  able  to  and 
will  protect  him.  This  is  the  whole  of  the  science  of 
being,  out  of  which  you  make  so  much  mystery." 

"Prove  it,"  exclaimed  Douglas. 

"The  proof  is  within  me,"  again  replied  Ahab. 

"Well,  it  is  not  in  me." 

"Because  you  refuse  to  recognize  it;  but  Moses 
saw;  Esaias  saw;  Jeremiah  saw;  Daniel  saw;  even 
your  teacher,  Jesus,  saw." 

"Yes,"  interrupted  Douglas,  "and  proved  what  he 
saw —  whatever  that  was.  If  you  see  the  same  thing, 
why  don't  you  prove  it?" 

Ahab  arose  to  his  feet  exclaiming  with  a  shrug  of 
his  shoulders:  "How  foolish!"  and  strolled  away. 

"You  had  him  there,"  said  a  bewhiskered  old  chap 
with  a  slouch  hat.  "If  all  these  things  are  true,  why 
don't  somebody  prove  them." 

Douglas  looked  at  the  speaker  quizzically  through 
his  eyeglasses. 

"You  evidently  don't  believe  in  anything  you  can't 
see,"  he  said. 

"That's  me,"  chuckled  the  old  man.     "That's  why 


78  DOUGLAS 

I'm  going  around  the  world.  I'm  tired  of  taking 
other  people's  word  for  anything.  I'm  going  to  see 
it  for  myself." 

"Then  I  don't  suppose  you  believe  in  a  hereafter?" 

"Can't  say  that  I  do.  But  if  there  is  one,  I'll  be 
there  —  and  I  won't  be  alone.  I  don't  see  any  use 
worrying  about  it;  do  you  ?" 

The  look  on  Douglas'  face  changed  from  one  of 
interest  to  one  of  nervous  fear.  "I'm  afraid  I  do," 
he  said  huskily. 

The  old  man  looked  at  him  in  surprise  for  an 
instant  and  then  blurted  out: 

"It's  a  wonder  to  me  you  ain't  afraid  to  go  sailin'. 
It's  mighty  dangerous  on  the  water.  Ships  go  down 
every  once  in  a  while." 

"Yes,"  snapped  Douglas,  "and  the  earth  quakes 
every  once  in  a  while  and  trains  run  off  the  track  and 
tornadoes  blow  whole  towns  away,  but  we  keep  right 
on  amongst  them.  Why?  Because  we  can't  help 
it  —  because  we  are  going  to  hang  on  as  long  as  we 
can,  no  matter  how  scared  we  are.  We'd  all  rather 
take  a  chance  of  being  blown  up  and  mutilated  or 
made  a  cripple  for  life,  than  to  take  a  voluntary 
chance  beyond  the  grave  —  except  once  in  a  while, 
when  some  poor  mortal  loses  his  mind  and  shuffles 
off." 

The  old  man  regarded  him  with  a  look  of  mingled 
astonishment  and  amusement. 

"Do  you  think  every  man  who  commits  suicide  is 
crazy?" 

"No  doubt  of  it." 

"I  agree  with  you.     Suicide  is  worse  than  folly. 


THE  FAITH  OF  AHAB  79 

As  you  say  it  is  madness,  for  there's  nothing  so  bad 
it  can't  be  worse.  Now  take  yourself  for  instance  — " 

His  speech  was  cut  short  by  a  sudden  jar  that  threw 
him  to  the  deck  and  which  was  followed  by  a  shriek 
from  scores  of  voices.  Then  there  was  silence,  while 
the  passengers  looked  into  each  others'  blanched  faces. 

I  have  always  prided  myself  that  I  am  not  a  coward. 
Some  of  the  things  I  have  done  would  bear  out  this 
opinion;  but  I  am  free  to  admit  that  for  the  moment 
there  came  to  me  a  sickening  sense  of  fear. 

Instinctively  I  looked  at  Douglas.  He  seemed  on 
the  verge  of  collapse.  His  blanched  face  was  under- 
going a  most  remarkable  change  —  a  change  that 
revealed  the  mental  process  going  on  within  him  and 
reminded  me  of  the  countenance  of  a  condemned  man 
to  whom  I  had  heard  the  sheriff  read  the  death 
warrant.  His  eyes  became  glassy  and  he  licked  his 
parched  lips  in  a  manner  absolutely  mechanical. 

I  forgot  my  own  fear  in  the  greater  fear  he  was 
manifesting.  I  felt  I  must  do  something  to  save  his 
manhood.  Because,  as  the  saying  goes,  "the  ruling 
passion  is  strong  in  death,"  I  exclaimed  in  sheer 
desperation : 

"It  may  be  a  big  story.     It's  up  to  us  to  cover  it." 

For  a  moment  he  regarded  me  curiously  and  then 
his  senses  seemed  to  return  and  he  exclaimed : 

"Right!  You  do  the  officers.  I'll  take  care  of  the 
passengers,"  and  he  turned  hastily  to  where  the  old 
man,  who  a  moment  before  was  so  fearless,  was  now 
scrambling  to  his  feet  with  a  look  of  terror  on  his 
face. 

It  was  very  evident  that  a  panic  was  imminent 


80  DOUGLAS 

unless  something  was  done.  None  of  the  officers  had 
yet  appeared  aft,  and  so  with  the  coolest  voice  he  could 
muster  Douglas  exclaimed: 

"It  must  be  an  accident  to  the  machinery.  We 
surely  could  have  struck  nothing  out  here." 

The  explanation  seemed  reasonable  and  many  were 
reassured;  but  just  then,  the  old  man,  looking  into 
the  sea,  saw  something  which  frightened  him  and  he 
let  out  an  unearthly  shriek. 

"It's  a  collision,"  he  yelled.     "It's   a  collision. 
We've  struck  another  boat." 

There  were  more  shrieks  and  some  women  fainted. 

"Nonsense,"  I  shouted.  "It's  more  likely  that  it 
was  a  whale." 

The  suggestion  was  most  absurd,  but  it  changed 
the  thought. 

Just  then  an  officer  appeared. 

"Some  accident  to  the  machinery,  I  suppose," 
said  Douglas  as  the  passengers  crowded  toward  him. 

The  officer  was  quick  to  take  the  suggestion. 

"I  think  so,"  he  replied,  "but  an  examination  is 
being  made." 

Then  as  he  saw  the  blanched  faces  about  him  he 
continued : 

"There  is  absolutely  no  danger.  Our  bulkheads 
and  watertight  compartments  are  perfect." 

Thus  assured,  in  many  parts  of  the  ship  the 
passengers  waited  quietly,  though  anxiously,  for 
further  news.  How  long  it  was  coming  I  should  hate 
to  say.  It  doubtless  seemed  longer  than  it  really 
was.  During  the  time  we  discussed  our  location. 


THE  FAITH  OF  AHAB  81 

"We  were  39°  45'  north  and  20°  10'  west  at  noon 
today,"  said  one. 

"Since  which  time  we  have  sailed  about  130  miles 
southeast,"  declared  Douglas.  "We  are  about  300 
miles  from  the  coast  of  Portugal,  and  right  in  the 
track  of  the  P.  &  O.  steamships." 

"You  have  been  over  this  route  before?"  asked  one. 

"Several  times.     It  is  absolutely  the  open  sea." 

This  seemed  to  appease  those  who  heard  him,  till 
the  news  began  to  get  about  that  we  had  struck  a 
sunken  derelict  and  that  the  forward  bulkhead  was 
stove  in  to  a  point  of  danger.  While  it  was  not 
believed  the  vessel  would  sink,  it  was  thought  best  to 
man  and  fill  the  lifeboats  with  the  women  and  children, 
although  it  was  decided  not  to  lower  them  unless 
absolutely  necessary. 

This  seemed  plausible  to  me,  who  had  never  sailed 
on  anything  bigger  than  the  Hudson  river,  and  I  was 
perfectly  satisfied  to  see  the  boats  slowly  filled  as 
ordered;  but  as  we  talked  with  our  companions,  I 
could  see  Douglas  had  a  different  idea. 

"If  it  were  no  worse  than  that,"  he  said  in  a  low 
voice,  "they  wouldn't  take  all  this  trouble.  We  are 
in  grave  danger.  We  are  mighty  close  to  eternity." 

"If  you  believe  it,  you  don't  show  it,"  I  replied, 
regarding  him  closely. 

"I  feel  it,"  he  declared  with  a  shudder.  "But 
somehow  or  other  I  feel  as  though  I  were  in  a  dream. 
This  doesn't  seem  to  be  me  at  all,  and  I  feel  a  good 
deal  more  afraid  of  being  thought  a  coward  by  these 
people  than  of  anything  else." 


82  DOUGLAS 

If  he  could  have  put  my  feelings  into  words 
he  could  not  have  expressed  them  any  more 
clearly. 

Not  so  our  bewhiskered  and  agnostic  acquaintance 
of  a  few  minutes  past.  Seeing  the  boats  fill  up  one 
by  one  with  the  women  and  children  and  perceiving 
that  there  were  not  nearly  enough  to  hold  all  the 
passengers,  he  became  wild  with  terror;  and  when 
some  two  hours  later  the  ship  was  found  to  be  gradu- 
ally sinking  and  the  life  boats  were  lowered  into  the 
water,  he  made  a  frantic  rush  and  tried  to  throw 
himself  into  one  of  them.  He  was  only  prevented 
from  upsetting  the  boat,  by  being  forcibly  detained. 

His  condition  was  so  pitiable  that  I  turned  to  Ahab, 
who  was  pacing  calmly  back  and  forth,  and  re- 
marked : 

"I  trust  that  when  the  time  comes,  I  shall  die  like  a 
man." 

"If  we  have  faith  in  God,"  declared  Ahab,  "we 
shall  none  of  us  die." 

I  had  not  intended  that  Douglas  should  hear  my 
remark,  but  that  he  did  I  could  plainly  see  by  the  way 
he  hastily  turned  his  face  to  conceal  his  looks.  At 
Ahab's  words,  however,  he  turned  quickly  back 
exclaiming: 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  that  God  is  able  to  save  us  from  the  water 
just  as  He  saved  the  Children  of  Israel  from  the 
Egyptians.  He  can  not  only  make  us  a  path  to  the 
land,  but  He  can,  as  Moses  declared,  even  take  us 
through  the  air." 

"Do  you  believe  that?" 


THE  FAITH  OF  AHAB  83 

"Certainly.  I  do  not  say  that  is  how  He  will  do  it, 
but  like  Moses  I  am  praying  —  declaring  that  God 
can  save  us.  It  is  for  Him  to  furnish  the  way." 

"I  wish  I  had  your  faith,"  said  Douglas.  "All  I 
have  is  a  little  hope  that  in  some  way  we  may  be 
saved  by  a  passing  ship,  or  by  the  life  rafts.  That  is 
the  only  reason,"  he  continued  in  a  low  voice,  "that 
I  don't  act  just  as  that  old  man  did.  It  is  terrible! 
Terrible!"  and  he  wiped  great  beads  of  perspiration 
from  his  brow. 

Looking  within  myself,  I  knew  I  was  in  much  the 
same  condition  of  mind.  It  just  seemed  as  though 
I  couldn't  reconcile  myself  to  the  thought  of  death; 
but  still  I  was  outwardly  calm.  Yet  suffering  as  I 
was,  I  had  a  sense  that  my  suffering  was  as  nothing 
to  that  of  Douglas. 

The  hours  that  passed  were  the  longest  I  ever 
experienced.  There  was  absolutely  nothing  to  do 
but  wait.  Of  course  I  prayed;  but  that  anything 
I  could  pray  would  cause  God  to  change  his  mind, 
seemed  to  me  so  absolutely  absurd  that  I  can  see 
that  my  faith  was  not  even  as  large  as  a  grain  of 
mustard  seed. 

However,  something  did  happen.  After  settling 
gradually  for  more  than  two  feet,  the  Carthagenia 
became  stationary.  Why,  no  one  has  ever  yet 
explained.  It  simply  did;  that  was  all. 

As  I  have  thought  over  the  occurrence  many  times 
since,  I  have  wondered  just  how  much  the  faith  of  Ahab 
Kedar  Kahn  had  to  do  with  the  solution  of  the  mystery. 
If  the  Bible  is  true  and  Ahab's  faith  was  anything  like 
what  his  words  expressed,  why  is  it  not  reasonable  to 


84  DOUGLAS 

suppose  that  this  was  the  cause?  I  can  see  it  in  no 
other  light. 

For  hours  we  lay  there  awaiting  the  sun,  and  I  am 
sure  it  was  never  longer  rising.  When  it  did  rise,  it 
disclosed  within  a  few  miles  two  liners  —  one  headed 
in  each  direction  —  and  we  were  soon  aboard  the 
one  bound  for  Gibraltar,  with  the  Carthagenia  in  tow. 

"I  hope  I  may  never  have  to  go  through  the  experi- 
ence again,"  said  Douglas,  as  we  sat  apart  under  the 
awning  stretched  over  the  upper  deck  of  the  rescue 
ship. 

"You  are  likely  to  as  long  as  you  sail  the  seas," 
I  replied. 

"I  am  likely  to  even  when  I  do  not  sail  the  seas, 
as  you  put  it." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"The  sea  is  not  the  only  place  where  death  may 
stare  you  in  the  face." 

"I  thought  you  referred  to  the  experience  of 
shipwreck." 

"No,  I  mean  the  experience  of  standing  for  hours, 
awaiting  death  —  for  that  is  what  it  would  have 
amounted  to  had  the  Carthagenia  sunk." 

"It  was  terrible,"  I  declared,  as  I  closed  my  eyes 
to  shut  out  the  sight  of  the  water.  "But  why  should 
it  have  been  ?  Unconsciously,  as  you  say,  we  face 
death  every  hour  and  yet  we  never  think  of  it." 

Douglas  looked  at  me  as  though  he  would  read  my 
innermost  thoughts.  Then  he  slowly  turned  away 
his  eyes  and  a  shudder  passed  over  his  slight  frame. 

"You  mean  you  never  think  of  it,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  VII 

WHY    DOUGLAS    DRANK 

THREE  months  after  our  meeting  with  Ahab  Kahn 
found  us  pleasantly  located  at  Abdulazem,  a  suburb 
of  Teheran,  and  connected  with  the  Persian  capital 
by  a  railroad  six  miles  in  length.  We  were  given  our 
choice  of  living  here,  or  at  Teheran,  and  chose  Abdula- 
zem as  under  less  restraint  to  the  conventionalities  of 
official  life. 

Our  quarters,  though  comfortable,  were  not  elabor- 
ate. We  had  a  house  to  ourselves  on  the  edge  of 
town,  from  which  we  could  see  Mt.  Demavend  rearing 
its  snow-capped  head  eighteen  thousand  feet  above 
the  level  of  the  sea  and  overlooking  the  waters  of  the 
Caspian,  which  stretched  away  to  the  northward. 
The  house  itself  was  of  the  prevailing  type  of  archi- 
tecture —  if  it  may  be  dignified  by  the  name  —  in 
the  rear  of  which  was  a  garden  of  so  excellent  a 
character  that  it  will  be  evident  to  any  one  acquainted 
with  Persia  that  we  had  quite  a  pretentious  abode. 

The  one  thing  in  which  the  Persian  delights  is  a 
garden.  Every  house  has  one  of  some  sort  or  another 
—  and  some  of  them  are  mighty  poor  affairs.  Ours, 
however,  was  elaborate,  even  to  the  extent  of  having 
a  little  stream  of  water,  over  which  a  foot-bridge  of 
ornate  construction  had  been  built.  The  garden  was 

85 


86  DOUGLAS 

always  well  kept  and,  taken  altogether,  was  a  thing  of 
beauty. 

Ahab  had  fulfilled  his  agreement  with  us  to  the 
letter  and  we  were  provided  for,  both  as  to  the  size 
and  personnel  of  our  household  and  in  regard  to  our 
finances,  in  a  manner  which  placed  us  above  worry  for 
at  least  a  year. 

To  the  man  of  limited  means,  who  up  to  his  thirtieth 
year  has  been  dependent  upon  a  salary,  to  be  thus 
provided  for  is  a  matter  of  no  small  moment.  It 
means  the  ability  to  work  along  lines  of  his  own 
choosing  with  perfect  freedom.  We  both  felt  the 
liberty  thus  granted  us,  I  more  than  Douglas,  I 
expect,  and  we  plunged  into  our  work  with  a  zest 
only  possible  to  those  whose  minds  are  freed  from 
the  bread  and  butter  incubus. 

Douglas,  to  be  sure,  was  obliged  to  work  largely 
along  commercial  and  political  lines,  but  I  was  able 
to  devote  myself  to  the  picturesque  as  well  as  the 
practical,  knowing  that  readers  of  the  magazine  with 
which  I  had  made  my  arrangements  would  be  equally 
pleased  with  both. 

If  Douglas  was  doing  any  studying  of  the  ancient 
religions,  he  was  doing  it  in  the  way  of  research,  with 
which  his  time  during  the  day  was  largely  consumed, 
and  did  not  consider  that  it  would  be  of  enough  interest 
to  me  to  mention  it.  Our  spare  moments,  ever  since 
our  arrival,  had  been  so  taken  up  with  novel  sights 
and  unusual  experiences  that  metaphysics  had  been 
relegated  to  the  background. 

But  our  work  was  the  main  thing,  and  how  we  did 
work!  Harder  than  I  had  ever  worked  in  all  my  life 


WHY  DOUGLAS  DRANK  87 

before;  but  working  for  one's  self  is  quite  a  different 
thing  from  working  for  some  one  else.  The  latter  is 
a  grind.  The  former  a  pleasure. 

"Then  why  haven't  you  been  working  for  yourself 
all  these  years  ? "  asked  Douglas  when  I  made  the 
foregoing  statement  to  him. 

"Because  I  had  to  have  a  job  in  order  to  live." 

"You  mean  you  thought  you  did?" 

"Which  amounts  to  the  same  thing,"  I  laughed. 

"Right,  in  so  far  as  this  matter  is  concerned;  but 
I  am  sure  you  could  have  made  quite  as  good  a  living 
and  been  working  along  congenial  lines  just  as  well 
as  to  have  been  doing  the  work  you  have,  had  it  not 
been  that  you  were  afraid  you  could  not  find  a  market 
for  your  copy.  Come,  now;  isn't  that  so  ?" 

"Well,  yes;  I  expect  it  is." 

He  burst  into  a  loud  laugh  as  he  exclaimed :  "And 
still  you  say  you  have  no  fear." 

The  surprised  look  on  my  face  evidently  pleased 
as  well  as  amused  him,  for  he  continued,  without 
giving  me  a  chance  to  reply: 

"You  never  thought  of  it  in  that  light  before;  did 
you?" 

I  confessed  that  I  never  had. 

"You  need  not  be  ashamed  to  own  up,"  he  laughed. 
"The  great  majority  of  men  who  are  working  on 
salaries  are  in  identically  the  same  condition.  That 
accounts  for  so  many  incompetents." 

"How  so?" 

"Men,  through  fear  of  starvation,  accept  positions 
for  which  they  are  absolutely  unfitted.  The  one 
thought  of  the  young  man  today  is  to  get  a  job,  not 


88  DOUGLAS 

because  he  is  so  terribly  anxious  to  work  as  because  of 
this  fear  —  fear  of  want.  Impelled  by  this  fear,  men 
take  the  very  first  job  that  offers,  no  matter  how  little 
qualified  they  are  to  fill  it,  or  how  little  taste  they  have 
for  it.  They  perform  their  work  in  a  perfunctory 
manner  and  finally  end  up  failures.  If  they  could 
only  get  rid  of  this  fear,  they  would  be  able  to  branch 
out  for  themselves  in  congenial  lines,  where  they 
would  make  a  success." 

"That  certainly  looks  reasonable." 

"It  isn't  my  idea,"  he  said.  "I  forget  who  sug- 
gested it  to  me.  John  Bright,  I  think." 

"How  are  men  to  get  rid  of  this  fear?"  I  asked. 

"Don't  ask  me,"  he  replied  emphatically. 

"You  got  rid  of  yours,"  I  suggested. 

"I  never  had  any  along  that  particular  line.  That, 
I  expect,  is  why  I  branched  out  for  myself.  My  fear 
is  of  something  else.  There  must,  however,  be  some 
way  to  rid  ourselves  of  all  of  them,  if  we  knew  how." 

"Didn't  some  one  say  somewhere  that  'perfect 
love  casteth  out  fear  ? '  "  I  asked. 

"Yes;  it's  in  the  Bible.  But  who  knows  what 
perfect  love  is  ?  I  don't,"  and  he  turned  to  his  work 
with  an  energy  that  showed  his  determination  to 
forget,  if  he  could  not  overcome  his  fears. 

In  my  score  or  more  years  of  newspaper  experience 
I  have  seen  a  lot  of  hustlers;  but  I  have  never  seen 
any  one  turn  out  copy  like  Douglas.  In  an  hour  he 
would  put  into  script  the  researches  of  a  week.  He 
wrote  a  hand  as  legible  as  type  and  almost  as  fine. 
It  was  certainly  a  joy  to  watch  him,  and  every  once 
in  a  while  when  Ahab  would  come  out  to  see  us,  he 


WHY  DOUGLAS  DRANK  89 

would  steal  silently  into  Douglas'  den  and  watch  him 
with  open-eyed  admiration. 

At  first  I  used  to  wonder  at  this  feverish  speed,  as, 
during  his  leisure  hours,  I  wondered  at  the  amount 
of  stimulous  liquor  he  imbibed.  I  found  the  cause  of 
his  nervous  energy,  when  I  learned  of  the  events  of 
his  boyhood  —  as  narrated  in  a  previous  chapter. 
The  cause  of  the  drink  habit  was  revealed  to  me 
when  I  learned  something  of  his  early  business  and 
journalistic  career.  I  know  of  no  better  place  to 
insert  this  information  than  right  here  and  I  think 
it  is  only  justice  to  Douglas  that  it  should  be  told,  in 
order  that  the  reason  for  a  few,  at  least,  of  his  idio- 
syncrasies may  become  known. 

It  appears  that  when  Douglas'  father  died,  the  first 
job  he  found  was  in  a  country  store  —  sleeping  in  a 
room  over  the  store  and  taking  his  meals  at  the  village 
tavern.  It  was  an  unhealthy  life  for  any  one  and 
especially  so  for  Douglas;  but  it  was  the  only  thing 
offered  and  he  took  it. 

It  had  been  a  drowsy,  dreamy  day  —  one  of  those 
summer  days  so  common  in  country  villages  when 
the  farmers  are  all  at  work,  and  the  village  is  deserted 
save  for  the  few  who  live  by  trade.  In  the  store  — 
one  of  those  big  concerns  which  handle  everything 
from  a  needle  to  a  threshing  machine,  with  groceries 
and  crockery  on  one  side  and  dry  goods  on  the  other  — 
it  was  cool  and  pleasant.  In  the  distance  could  be 
heard  the  buzz  of  a  noisy  planing  mill,  broken 
occasionally  by  the  clang  of  a  blacksmith's  hammer 
upon  the  anvil  as  he  shod  a  couple  of  farm  horses  in 
the  smithy  around  the  corner.  The  head  clerk  and 


90  DOUGLAS 

the  virtual  head  of  the  business  —  a  gray-whiskered 
man  who  had  been  in  the  store  for  years  —  was  busy 
making  up  a  new  invoice  of  calico;  the  bookkeeper 
and  another  clerk  were  at  work  checking  up  accounts; 
still  another  clerk  was  trying  to  sell  a  village  house- 
wife a  pair  of  nankeen  pants  for  her  six-year  old  son, 
and  Douglas  sat  on  one  of  the  revolving  stools,  of 
which  there  were  four  in  the  store,  studying  out  a 
chart  which  had  just  been  hung  up  in  the  window  by 
a  man  who  was  to  lecture  in  the  town  hall  the  succeed- 
ing night. 

The  chart  was  a  curiosity  in  its  way  and  Douglas 
much  admired  the  ingenuity  of  the  man  who  designed 
it.  It  represented  the  figure  of  the  man  composed  of 
brass,  iron  and  other  metals  and  ingredients  seen  by 
the  prophet  Daniel  in  his  vision.  The  figure  was 
dissected,  or  more  properly  speaking,  dismembered, 
and  was  to  be  used  for  the  purpose  of  showing  just 
when  the  world  was  coming  to  an  end.  Douglas 
could  plainly  see  that  the  Medes  and  Persians  had 
gone;  that  Babylon,  Jerusalem  and  Rome  had  had 
their  day  and  as  New  York  wasn't  as  wicked  in  those 
days  as  it  has  since  become,  it  was  very  plain  to 
Douglas  that  the  world  might  just  as  well  come  to  an 
end  within  the  next  few  months  as  not.  In  fact  he 
wished  it  would  hurry  up  and  come.  He  was  tired 
of  the  ceaseless  uncertainty.  He'd  a  good  deal 
rather  the  end  would  come  and  be  done  with  it.  He 
was  now  old  enough  to  reason  and  he  could  see  there 
was  no  earthly  possibility  of  knowing  where  he  came 
from  and  where  he  was  going. 

Still,  anxious  as  he  was  to  have  it  all  over,  every 


WHY  DOUGLAS  DRANK  91 

time  he  thought  of  the  future  possibility  his  blood 
seemed  to  chill  and  there  was  a  sinking  feeling  at  the 
pit  of  his  stomach. 

He  arose  and  looked  out  of  the  door.  A  haze  had 
spread  itself  over  everything,  dimming  the  sun,  and 
the  atmosphere  outside  was  hot  and  sultry.  At  first, 
Douglas  thought  a  storm  was  coming  up;  but  after  a 
few  minutes  he  concluded  that  wasn't  it.  Then  his 
mind  reverted  back  to  Daniel  and  the  prophecy. 
Remembering  that  the  end  was  to  come  in  a  time  and 
times  and  half  a  time,  he  looked  again  at  the  chart  on 
which  was  printed  in  big  type  1290  days  from  some 
time,  which  he  knew  he  didn't  know  anything  about, 
and  wondered  if  maybe  this  wasn't  the  day. 

He  began  to  get  a  little  uneasy  and  went  in  and 
brushed  the  flies  off  the  counter,  straightened  up  the 
wrapping  paper  and  closed  the  cheese  safe  which 
some  one  had  left  open.  Then,  as  he  turned  back  to 
the  door,  there  appeared  across  the  street  a  familiar 
figure.  It  was  Uncle  Jerry  Grote,  an  aged  farmer 
who  also  ran  a  cider  mill  a  couple  of  miles  south  of 
town.  In  one  hand  he  carried  a  big  covered  bucket, 
which  would  hold  twenty-five  pounds  of  sugar,  and 
in  the  other  a  molasses  jug.  Uncle  Jerry  was  some 
sort  of  a  distant  relative  of  Douglas'  step-mother  and 
Douglas  was  glad  to  see  him. 

"Good  afternoon,  Uncle  Jerry,"  he  called  as  soon 
as  the  old  man  came  within  speaking  distance.  "How 
did  you  manage  to  get  away  from  the  haying?" 

"The  mowing  machine  broke  and  I  had  to  come 
in  to  get  it  fixed.  What's  straight  A  sugar  worth 
today,  boy?" 


92  DOUGLAS 

"Eleven  cents,"  replied  Douglas  taking  the  bucket 
and  the  jug  from  the  old  man's  hand.  "It's  a  little 
high  but  we  can  sell  you  good  Porto  Rico  molasses  for 
seventy  cents,  and  that's  cheap."  Then  as  he  lifted 
the  jug:  "What  you  got  in  the  jug,  Uncle  Jerry?" 

"There's  a  leetle  cider.  I  just  open'd  a  fresh 
barrel  for  the  harvest  hands  this  morning  and  as  it 
was  onusually  good  I  thought  you  boys  up  here 
at  the  store  might  like  a  leetle.  Can't  you  empty  it 
into  another  jug,  or  a  pitcher,  or  sumthin'  ?  " 

"I  should  say  so,"  replied  Douglas.  "I've  got  a 
big,  brown  pitcher  out  in  the  back  room  that'll  just 
do.  I  guess  it  won't  last  long,"  and  he  started  towards 
the  back  room. 

"I  wouldn't  drink  too  much  on't,"  said  Uncle 
Jerry,  following  along  behind.  "It's  what  I  call 
refined  cider  —  barrelled  up  with  a  couple  o'  pounds 
of  old  fashioned  red  cherries.  It's  pretty  snappy." 

"I  guess  it  won't  hurt  any  of  us,"  laughed  Douglas. 
"None  of  us  are  drinkers  here  but  Jimmy,"  indicating 
the  bookkeeper.  "He  sometimes  gets  a  little  too 
much." 

Getting  down  the  big  pitcher,  Douglas  proceeded 
to  pour  out  the  cider;  and  when  the  pitcher  was  full 
there  was  still  some  in  the  jug. 

"Guess  I'll  have  to  drink  this,"  he  said,  and 
putting  the  jug  to  his  lips  he  drained  it. 

'Tis  pretty  snappy  sure  enough,"  he  said  as  he 
set  the  jug  under  a  little  cistern  pump  in  one  corner 
of  the  room  and  proceeded  to  rinse  it  out.  "Don*t 
reckon  it'll  go  to  my  head,  do  you,  Uncle  Jerry?" 

"Shouldn't  be  surprised;  but  'twon't  last  long." 


WHY  DOUGLAS  DRANK  93 

"Well,"  laughed  Douglas,  "so  long  as  it  doesn't 
make  me  unsteady  I  guess  I  can  stand  it." 

Then  after  a  couple  of  minutes  during  which  time 
he  had  drawn  the  molasses  and  poured  it  into  the  jug: 
"It  certainly  wakes  you  up  and  takes  away  the  blues." 

"Oh,  yes,"  declared  Uncle  Jerry  as  they  returned 
to  the  front  room.  "It  cheers  you  up;  but  be  careful 
it  don't  cheer  you  too  often.  If  you  do,  it'll  take 
sumthin'  stronger'n  cider  after  a  while.  I  make  it  a 
rule  never  to  drink  more'n  a  glass  twice  a  day." 

So  far  as  advice  could  go  Uncle  Jerry's  words  were 
doubtless  good;  but  as  is  always  the  case,  actions  are 
more  powerful  than  words.  The  damage  had  been 
done.  The  jug  of  cider  which  Uncle  Jerry  had 
brought  and  put  to  the  boy's  lips  was  more  potent  for 
evil  than  his  words  were  for  good.  Douglas  had 
discovered  a  way  to  drive  away  the  blues,  and  not 
knowing  that  wine  is  a  mocker,  he  began  to  turn  to 
the  snappy  cider  whenever  assailed  by  one  of  these 
attacks  of  fear,  which  is  commonly  designated  by 
the  apparently  harmless  name  of  the  blues. 

Blue  is  a  good  color,  but  it  is  not  the  color  of 
sunshine;  and  an  overdose  of  blue  is  not  to  be  remedied 
by  the  simple  addition  of  red,  which  turns  the  blue  into 
a  deep  purple,  whose  effect  is  even  worse  than  blue. 

It  was  while  in  a  state  of  exhilaration  brought  about 
by  one  of  these  resorts  to  the  cider  jug,  that  Douglas 
was  attracted  to  the  life  of  a  physician,  whose  success 
as  a  surgeon  had  made  him  a  prominent  figure,  not 
only  in  the  village  but  throughout  the  country.  He 
was  a  handsome  man,  a  bachelor,  and  very  popular 
with  every  one. 


94  DOUGLAS 

"That,"  thought  Douglas  to  himself,  "is  the  sort 
of  a  life  I  should  like  to  lead.  I  believe  I'll  be  a 
doctor.  They  make  plenty  of  money,  do  a  lot  of 
good  and  are  looked  up  to  by  everybody.  Yes, 
I  am  going  to  be  a  doctor." 

As  a  result  of  this  decision  Douglas  returned  to  the 
high  school  that  fall,  studied  hard  and  in  the  spring 
passed  a  successful  examination  and  was  admitted  to 
one  of  the  well  known  colleges.  But  from  the  very 
first  day  his  career  was  checkered.  Although  possessed 
of  only  the  most  limited  means,  he  was  a  wild  student. 
He  was  mixed  up  in  all  the  deviltry  in  which  college 
boys  so  delight  and  on  top  of  it  all  his  cider  habit, 
which  had  developed  into  wine  bibbing,  proved  a 
great  detriment.  He  finished  his  college  course 
worse  off  in  many  respects  than  when  he  entered. 
True,  he  had  acquired  a  certain  amount  of  culture 
and  familiarity  with  his  own  and  other  languages 
which  in  later  years  stood  him  in  good  stead;  but  the 
general  effect  was  bad. 

Before  his  college  course  was  finished,  Douglas 
had  discovered  that  he  was  not  fitted  for  the  study  of 
medicine.  The  dissecting  room  was  absolutely  be- 
yond his  physical  qualifications.  It  had  been  bad 
enough  as  a  boy  in  high  school  to  witness  the  simple 
experiments  with  the  organs  of  animals.  As  for 
witnessing  the  dissection  of  a  human  body,  he  simply 
could  not  stand  it.  Not  only  did  he  shrink  from  the 
gruesome  sight,  but  it  brought  more  plainly  to  his 
mind  the  thought  and  fear  of  death.  He  felt  sure 
he  would  never  be  able  to  assist,  much  less  conduct  a 
surgical  case  —  although  later  in  life  he  often  found 


WHY  DOUGLAS  DRANK  95 

himself  aiding  the  wounded  and  suffering,  with  never 
a  thought  of  the  mangled  and  mutilated  flesh. 

Deciding  that  the  practice  of  surgery  was,  there- 
fore, out  of  the  question,  Douglas  turned  to  the  drug 
business  and  his  twenty-second  birthday  found  him 
compounding  prescriptions  and  handing  out  patent 
medicines  in  a  western  town  which  had  developed 
from  a  lone  prairie  to  a  hustling  little  city  of  three 
thousand  inhabitants  during  the  four  years  that 
Douglas  had  been  in  college. 

This  life  suited  him  first  rate.  The  country  was 
new.  The  people  breezy  and  full  of  energy  and  the 
work  was  fairly  congenial;  but  the  drugs  were  too 
convenient  —  especially  the  bottle  labeled  spiritus 
frumenti.  From  wine  bibbing  he  went  to  tippling, 
finding  that  he  could  get  quicker  results  with  distilled 
liquor  than  with  fermented. 

It  was  not  until  some  years  later  that  Douglas  dis- 
covered that  it  was  not  liquor  that  he  was  drinking 
anyway  —  that  it  was  simply  intoxication.  It  was 
not  the  cause  he  was  after,  but  the  effect;  and  the 
time  came,  as  it  must  come  to  every  man  who  depends 
upon  ardent  spirits  for  his  stimulant,  when  he  learned 
that  the  real  stimulant  was  not  to  be  found  in  spirits, 
but  Spirit,  which  exhilarates  —  not  intoxicates. 

Not  yet  having  learned  the  source  of  real  enjoy- 
ment, it  was  not  long  until  Douglas  again  became 
dissatisfied.  His  fits  of  despondency  became  more 
frequent  and  the  fear  and  uncertainty  of  the  future 
again  began  to  haunt  him.  He  at  length  determined 
to  seek  a  life  of  greater  excitement.  With  his  experi- 
ence as  a  druggist  he  felt  certain  of  finding  employ- 


96  DOUGLAS 

ment,  and  throwing  up  his  position  he  betook  himself 
to  a  great  city.  Here,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life, 
he  was  thrown  absolutely  upon  his  own  resources  and 
soon  found  these  resources  much  less  than  he  had 
thought.  But  he  had  one  great  asset  upon  which  he 
had  never  before  relied,  and  which  in  fact  was  such 
a  part  of  him,  that  he  never  realized  that  he  had  it. 

This  valuable  asset  was  his  confidence  in  himself. 

It  never  for  one  moment  entered  Douglas'  mind 
that  he  was  not  able  to  do  anything  any  one  else 
could  do.  Had  any  one  offered  him  a  position  as 
the  president  of  a  bank  or  a  railroad,  he  would  have 
accepted  it  with  perfect  assurance  that  he  could 
successfully  perform  the  duties  of  the  position. 
Thus  it  was  that,  being  unable  to  secure  a  position  as 
a  drug  clerk,  he  applied  for  a  position  on  a  news- 
paper, which  one  of  the  young  men  at  the  hotel  where 
he  was  staying  told  him  was  vacant.  He  was  given 
an  assignment  and  although  he  had  to  look  into  the 
dictionary  to  see  how  to  make  a  paragraph  mark, 
he  covered  the  assignment  to  the  satisfaction  of  the 
city  editor  and  was  given  a  job. 

Here  it  was  that  another  of  Douglas'  characteristics 
made  its  value  felt  —  namely  his  habit  of  observation. 
He  saw  everything  that  was  going  on  about  him. 
He  noted  the  signs  on  the  stores  and  the  height  of 
the  buildings.  He  could  tell  you  on  which  side  of 
the  street  you  would  find  the  biggest  crowd  at  certain 
hours  of  the  day.  He  could  tell  you  the  name  of  the 
undertaker  by  the  character  of  the  funeral.  There 
was  never  a  fire,  no  matter  in  what  part  of  the  city, 


WHY  DOUGLAS  DRANK  97 

that  he  could  not  tell  you  what  drug  store  to  call  up 
for  information.  He  never  read  a  news  item  that  he 
could  not  tell  you  a  month  later  just  where  to  find  it. 
He  could  almost  tell  the  name  of  your  laundry  by  the 
gloss  on  your  collar.  This  helped  to  make  him 
resourceful  and  he  speedily  developed  into  the  crack 
reporter  on  the  paper. 

In  those  days  pretty  nearly  every  newspaper  man 
was  a  drinker  of  more  or  less  proficiency,  so  the  habit 
which  started  with  the  snappy  cider,  developed  with 
the  wine  and  became  full-fledged  with  cognac  arid 
whiskey,  did  not  for  a  time  interfere  with  his  quondam 
literary  work.  In  fact,  it  was  sometimes  said  of  him 
that  he  wrote  his  most  graphic  stories  when  more  than 
half  intoxicated. 

I  have  been  thus  explicit  in  the  details  of  Douglas' 
early  career  that  you  may  have  a  deeper  insight  into 
his  character.  He  lived  absolutely  on  the  surface. 
He  rarely  if  ever  went  to  the  bottom  of  anything. 
Like  all  men  with  a  religious  tendency  —  I  use  the 
word  in  its  academic  sense  —  he  was  unusually 
temperamental  and  as  intuitive  as  a  woman. 

Having  now  found  what  seemed  to  him  a  life  most 
congenial  and  which,  because  of  its  kaleidoscopic 
character,  was  always  varied  and  interesting  and 
took  his  mind  off  himself  —  he  determined  to  put 
aside  his  doubts  and  his  fears  and  set  about  enjoying 
the  new  life  to  the  fullest.  How  better,  he  thought, 
could  he  enjoy  it  than  by  seeing  the  world  —  and  at 
the  same  time  run  away  from  himself.  How  indeed  ? 
But  if  any  man  thinks  he  can  run  away  from  himself, 


98  DOUGLAS 

or  dispose  of  any  problem  of  life  without  solving  it, 
all  he  need  do  to  disprove  it,  is  to  follow  Douglas' 
career  for  the  next  few  years. 

It  would  take  much  less  time  to  tell  where  he  had 
not  been  than  where  he  had.  He  had  been  with 
Kitchener  in  Egypt  and  Roberts  in  Africa.  He  had 
followed  the  rush  for  gold  from  Nome  to  the  Klondike 
and  raced  across  the  Cherokee  strip  in  the  days  when 
the  government  did  not  conduct  land  lotteries.  He 
followed  Dewey  to  Manila  and  chased  Aguinaldo  with 
Funston.  He  went  everywhere  that  there  was  a 
chance  for  trouble  and  incidentally  a  story.  Every- 
thing and  everybody  was  copy  to  Douglas,  and  if  ever 
there  were  a  man  who  lived  up  to  the  late  Joseph 
McCullogh's  definition  of  a  newspaper  man  —  one 
who  finds  out  where  things  will  break  loose  next  and 
gets  there  —  Douglas  was  that  one. 

Wherever  he  went  he  also  studied  the  religion  of 
the  people  in  the  hope  of  finding  a  solution  of  the 
mystery  of  life,  which  should  free  him  from  his  ever- 
present  fear  of  death  and  the  future  —  but  in  vain. 

Small  wonder,  then,  that  when  he  drifted  into  the 
Herald  office  on  the  night  following  the  Mt.  Pelee 
disaster,  he  should  have  had  just  the  story  we  wanted, 
or  that  he  was  unable  to  answer  to  his  own  satisfaction 
the  question: 

"Where  should  I  be  now,  had  I  suddenly  been 
snuffed  out  as  were  the  thousands  at  St.  Pierre?" 

I  was  thinking  of  this  as  we  two  and  Ahab  were 
dining  in  our  comfortable  and  breezy  dining  room 
overlooking  our  garden  one  evening  in  June.  There 
had  been  some  little  talk  of  trouble  on  the  Baluchistan 


WHY  DOUGLAS  DRANK  99 

frontier  and  Douglas  had  been  giving  us  some  of  his 
experiences  in  Egypt,  in  the  meantime  drinking  freely 
of  the  native  wine,  which  is  always  to  be  had  by  those 
bibulously  inclined.  I  was  wishing  he  would  not 
drink,  but  I  disliked  to  say  anything  about  it  before 
Ahab,  because  I  knew  that  while  the  early  Persians 
were  wine  drinkers,  the  modern  Persian  —  Moslem 
by  faith  —  is  not. 

Ahab  must  have  detected  my  thoughts,  for  he 
suddenly  took  the  matter  into  his  own  hands  by 
asking : 

"Why  do  men  put  that  into  their  stomachs  which 
steals  away  their  brains  ?  " 

"Perhaps  those  who  put  such  stuff  into  their 
stomachs  have  no  brains  to  be  stolen, "laughed Douglas. 

"One  would  naturally  think  so,"  was  Ahab's 
rejoinder;  "but  unfortunately  we  find  it  otherwise. 
But  why  acquire  anything  which  we  know  is  bad?" 

"How  can  anything  be  bad,"  parried  Douglas, 
"which  produces  such  good  results  as  this  excellent 
Xeres?"  and  he  quaffed  another  goblet. 

"Whom  the  gods  wish  to  destroy  they  first  make 
mad,"  quoth  Ahab. 

Douglas  laughed  loudly.  "Those  were  the  gods 
of  mythology,  who  were  more  evil  than  good." 

The  answer  was  easily  a  challenge,  and  Ahab  fell 
into  the  snare. 

"Doesn't  the  Christian  God  send  evil  upon  man- 
kind ?"  he  asked. 

"If  I  should  answer  that  question  as  I  have  been 
tai-ght,  I  should  say  yes;  but  there  are  a  lot  of  people 
who  don't  believe  it." 


100  DOUGLAS 

"Well,  I  don't  care  who  sends  it,"  I  interrupted. 
"Any  man  who  drinks  alcoholic  liquor  is  a  plain,  every- 
day idiot.  It  does  him  no  good.  If  it  causes  him  to 
forget  one  minute,  it  brings  worse  fear  upon  him  the 
next.  Any  man  who  has  sense  enough  to  discuss  the 
goodness  of  God  ought  to  have  sense  enough  not  to 
drink." 

I  spoke  emphatically,  for  I  meant  it.  The  words 
seemed  to  arouse  Douglas  and  he  turned  on  me 
fiercely. 

"You  think  so,"  he  exclaimed,  "because  you  don't 
seem  to  have  sense  enough  to  know  that  you  are  living 
in  danger  of  eternal  damnation." 

"Maybe  not,"  I  retorted;  "but  I've  sense  enough 
to  know  if  I  did  believe  a  thing  like  that,  I'd  try  and 
be  as  decent  as  I  could  and  not  make  my  condition 
worse  by  getting  drunk.  Why  do  you  always  want  to 
think  about  such  things?" 

"Why  do  I  want  to?  I  don't,"  he  replied,  "but  I 
don't  seem  able  to  think  about  anything  else.'* 

"Well,  I'll  give  you  something  else,"  said  Ahab 
rising,  "for  I  must  bid  you  goodbye.  I  do  not  know 
when  I  shall  see  you  again  as  I  am  going  away  on  an 
important  mission;  but  I  want  to  say  that  I  am  more 
than  satisfied  with  the  way  the  work  is  progressing 
and  am  going  to  turn  you  over  to  Zarullah  Kahn." 

"Who  is  Zarullah  Kahn  ?  "  queried  Douglas. 

"The  Shah's  personal  representative  who  will  edit 
your  book." 

"A  new  editor,"  laughed  Douglas,  rising  from  the 
table.  "Well,  that  is  something  to  think  about  for 
sure." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A    DESERT    EXPERIENCE 

FOR  four  days  we  had  been  marching  over  a  desert 
of  glistening  sand.  We  had  left  Teheran,  Douglas 
and  I,  with  a  good-sized  caravan  on  August  14th  and  it 
was  now  the  2ith.  I  remember  the  date  well,  as  it 
was  seven  months  to  a  day  since  we  had  come  to 
Persia.  They  had  been  months  of  hard  work  for  both 
of  us  and  Douglas  had  made  such  headway  on  his 
book  that  Zarullah  Kahn,  the  Shah's  press  agent,  if  so 
he  may  be  called,  had  suggested  that  he  make  a  trip  to 
Kerman,  the  ancient  capital  of  Caramania  —  at  one 
time  a  satrap  of  Alexander  the  Great. 

Kerman  is  located  at  almost  the  southern  end  of 
Persia  and  a  journey  thither  from  Teheran  is  no  small 
undertaking.  Our  caravan  consisted  of  some  thirty 
servants,  guards,  guides,  and  attendants,  under  the 
direction  of  Hassim  Kahn.  Hassim,  Douglas  and  I 
rode  strong  Russian  chargers,  but  the  others  rode 
donkeys  and  dromedaries,  of  the  latter  of  which  there 
were  three.  We  must  have  had  at  least  fifty  donkeys. 
There  was  also  with  us  an  Arab  boy,  AH  by  name. 

Ali  was  not  one  of  the  company  who  had  come  with 
us  from  Teheran,  and  as  the  method  of  his  joining  us 
was  unusual,  I  shall  have  to  tell  you  about  it. 

It  was  because  of  Ali's  presence  that  our  journey 
101 


102  DOUGLAS 

across  the  desert  developed  into  something  beside  a 
pleasure  trip. 

It  was  on  the  third  day  after  leaving  Koom,  the  first 
place  of  any  size  south  of  Teheran.  We  had  passed 
Kashan  on  our  left  and  had  come,  toward  night,  upon 
a  small  settlement,  of  whose  name  we  were  ignorant. 
It  was  nearly  dark  when  we  arrived  and  we  went  into 
camp  at  once  on  the  edge  of  the  village  near  a  little 
stream  of  excellent  water.  After  supper  Douglas  and 
I  strolled  over  toward  the  village,  where  we  soon  were 
attracted  by  a  group  of  men  gathered  about  a  fire. 

Approaching,  we  discovered  in  their  midst  an  Arab 
youth  of  tawny  complexion,  who  no  sooner  spied  us 
than  he  sprang  out  of  the  crowd  and  began  to  sing 
such  a  plaintive  melody  that  we  stopped  to  hear  it 
through.  It  was  so  sweet  and  sad  that  I  stood  almost 
spellbound  by  its  enchantment. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  anything  like  it?"  I  exclaimed. 

"Once,"  replied  Douglas,  as  the  youth  finished  his 
song  and  came  toward  us,  exclaiming: 

"Alms,  for  the  love  of  Allah.     Alms!" 

We  both  threw  him  a  coin. 

"Where  do  you  live  ?" asked  Douglas,  more  to  detain 
him  than  because  of  any  real  interest  in  his  place  of 
abode. 

"Dasht-i-Kavir,"  was  the  reply. 

"What  does  he  say?"  queried  Douglas  of  the  men 
standing  about. 

"He  says  he  lives  out  on  the  desert." 

"Whereabouts?" 

"Toward  the  mountains,"  and  the  speaker  moved 
his  head  toward  the  Khorod  peaks  that  had  loomed 


A  DESERT  EXPERIENCE  103 

blue  in  the  distance  all  day  and  toward  which  we  were 
journeying. 

"Are  there  others  out  there  who  can  sing  like  that  ?" 

The  lad  smiled  a  winning  smile  as  he  replied: 

"Yes;  my  sister.  My  voice  is  as  the  thrush  —  hers 
is  as  the  bulbul,  which  sings  only  at  night." 

Douglas  looked  at  me  quizzically  as  he  said  with  a 
laugh: 

"We  seem  to  have  fallen  upon  a  flower  from  the 
garden  of  Lalla  Rookh." 

"The  first  touch  of  the  Persia  of  romance  that  we 
have  seen,"  I  replied. 

"I  should  like  to  know  more  about  him,"  mused 
Douglas,  "I  wonder  if  we  can  lure  him  over  to  camp." 

"I  have  no  doubt  that  the  promise  of  a  dish  of  pillou 
would  be  all  the  lure  needed." 

My  surmise  proved  correct  and  when  Hafiz,  our 
cook,  placed  the  savory  dish  before  him  a  few  minutes 
later,  we  found  that  the  boy  could  eat  quite  as  well  as 
he  could  sing.  He  ate  as  though  he  were  half  starved, 
and  feeling  sure  that  he  must  have  been  able  to  gain 
quite  a  sum  with  such  a  voice,  we  questioned  him. 

"What  do  you  do  with  the  money  given  you?"  I 
asked.  He  looked  at  me  with  a  startled  expression  as 
he  replied:  "They  do  not  give  me  much." 

"Surely,"  I  insisted,  "you  get  enough  so  that  you 
do  not  need  to  go  hungry." 

"But  that  is  for  my  sister." 

"Why  does  your  sister  need  money  ?  "  asked  Douglas, 
well  aware  that  girls  in  the  Orient,  whether  Persian  or 
Arab,  are  not  supposed  to  have  anything  to  do  with 
family  finances. 


104  DOUGLAS 

Again  the  lad  appeared  startled,  but  made  no  reply. 

"Can't  you  answer?"  asked  Hassim  sternly. 

"Don't  be  harsh  with  him,"  said  Douglas.  "It 
isn't  important,  but  he  interests  me." 

"I  shall  put  him  into  my  next  magazine  story,"  I 
laughed,  "provided  he  doesn't  run  away  before  day- 
light, so  I  can't  get  a  snapshot  of  him." 

The  boy  kept  his  eyes  on  Douglas,  quite  as  inter- 
ested in  him  as  Douglas  was  in  the  boy. 

"I  have  it,"  I  exclaimed  with  a  laugh,  "There  is  a 
bond  between  you  that's  stronger  than  curiosity;  it's 
in  the  blood.  You  are  both  nomads." 

Douglas  smiled  as  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  boy's 
shoulder.  "Tell  me,"  he  said,  and  there  came  into 
his  voice  the  first  touch  of  real  tenderness  I  had  ever 
noticed,  "for  what  does  your  sister  need  so  much 
money  ?  " 

"To  set  her  free." 

"To  set  her  free?"  exclaimed  Douglas  with  a  start. 
"Is  she  in  prison?" 

The  lad  shook  his  head. 

"Worse,"  he  replied. 

"How?"  persisted  Douglas. 

"She  is  in  the  hands  of  our  enemies.  O  Sahib!" 
and  the  boy  fell  on  his  knees  at  Douglas'  side,  "You 
are  a  great  Kahn.  You  are  able  to  save  her.  You 
can  help  me  if  you  will." 

Douglas  took  the  boy  by  the  arm  and  lifted  him  up. 

"There,  there,"  he  said,  "be  a  man.  Do  not  bow 
your  knee  to  any  one.  Now  then,"  as  Ali  straightened 
himself  and  looked  Douglas  fearlessly  in  the  face, 
"tell  me  all  about  it." 


A  DESERT  EXPERIENCE  105 

After  a  moment's  hesitation,  in  which  he  regarded 
us  both  intently,  the  lad  began  —  in  that  same  plaintive 
voice  that  had  so  attracted  us  —  the  recital  of  a  story 
that  sounded  like  a  page  from  some  epic  poem.  It 
must,  I  am  sure,  have  been  memorized,  as  the  boy 
could  not  have  composed  it  as  he  went  along.  There 
was  that  in  the  words,  as  well  as  the  rhythmic  measure 
in  which  they  were  recited,  that  took  me  back  in 
thought  to  the  long-forgotten  days  of  the  wandering 
troubadour. 

The  tale  could  be  condensed  into  a  few  short  para- 
graphs, but  instead,  I  shall  give  it  in  Ali's  words  —  as 
nearly  as  I  can — that  perchance  the  reader  may  gather 
something  of  the  atmosphere  which  it  exhaled.  Rais- 
ing his  eyes  to  the  faraway  hills,  he  began: 

"An  Emir  of  the  desert,  was  my  sire  —  an  Emir 
great,  with  followers  brave  and  strong  —  and  I  his 
son.  O'er  the  hot  sands  with  sword  and  spear  he  rode, 
unmindful  of  the  heat  or  wild  simoon;  nor  ever  turned 
his  back  on  man  or  beast,  when  honor  or  the  prophet 
bade  him  on;  nor  ever  harmed  a  friend,  or  one  whose 
power  he  held  not  equal  to  his  own. 

"Beside  my  father  and  myself,  a  sister  is  —  fairest 
of  all  who  in  the  desert  dwell;  with  face  seraphic,  and 
a  soul  as  pure  as  angels,  and  a  voice  so  sweet,  that 
hearing  once,  the  world  is  e'en  forgot,  while,  by  her 
notes  enraptured,  mortals  stand. 

"Across  the  sands,  back  where  the  mountains  blue 
rise  from  the  plain  and  tower  toward  the  sky,  our  foe- 
man  dwelt  —  a  renegade,  a  Kurd,  with  heart  as  black 
as  that  foul  bird,  which  o'er  the  desert  soars  and  waits 
with  greedy  eye  the  death  of  some  poor  beast,  who, 


106  DOUGLAS 

faint  for  lack  of  drink,  staggers  and  falls,  never  to  rise 
again.  Ghoola  Kahn  his  name,  and  where  he  came, 
nor  peace  nor  safety  was. 

"Alas!  Alas!"  and  Ali  clenched  his  hands,  "that 
men  should  be  so  base  —  so  sin-defiled,  that  purity 
and  beauty  are  but  words  to  lure  them  on  to  deeds  of 
shame,  instead  of  gifts  from  God  to  win  men's  hearts 
and  point  the  way  to  brighter  realms  where  all  is  joy 
and  love.  But  so  it  seems,  and  Ghoola,  having  learned 
of  Zelda,  fair  —  the  pride  of  all  our  tribe,  our  fairest 
flower  —  made  public  oath  that  she  his  bride  should 
be  and  share  his  bandit  home. 

"When  to  my  worthy  sire  this  oath  was  brought,  he 
laughed,  Ho!  Ho!  and  calling  Zelda  asked,  with  jovial 
mien,  if  she  had  mind  to  go  and  share  the  fortunes  of 
the  robber  clan  —  holding  the  oath  of  such  a  man  a 
jest. 

"How  little  recked  he  of  the  fearful  depth  of  infamy 
to  which  this  Ghoola  Kahn  had  mind  to  go;  or  of  the 
treachery  that  lurked  within  our  band,  or  of  the  fate 
which  Allah  from  on  high  had  e'en  decreed  and  brought 
to  pass.  Within  the  space  of  one  new  moon,  my  sire 
by  treachery  was  slain,  our  flocks  and  herds  destroyed, 
and  Zelda  and  myself  the  bandits'  captives  made. 

"But  why  prolong  the  tale?  Why  tell  of  all  our 
sorrow  and  our  pain?  It  is  enough  that  we  were 
captives  ta'en  and  straightway  hurried  to  the  bandit's 
lair,  where  he  had  mind  to  carry  out  his  oath  and  make 
our  Zelda  fair  his  desert  bride. 

"Not  so,  however,  had  it  been  decreed;  and  ere  his 
purpose  he  'gainst  us  had  wrought,  as  haughty  Lucifer, 
who,  from  Paradise  on  high,  by  will  of  mighty  Allah 


A  DESERT  EXPERIENCE  107 

was  cast  down,  so  —  in  the  midst  of  his  unrighteous- 
ness, fell  Ghoola  Kahn,  stricken  by  heaven. 

"Kismet!  It  was  enough,  and  o'er  his  lifeless  form, 
with  many  a  blow,  a  battle  fierce  was  fought  by  rival 
chiefs  for  Ghoola's  place  and  power.  Ilderim  won, 
a  chief  whose  greed  of  gold  is  greater  far  than  all  else 
on  this  earth.  To  him  its  clink  is  sweeter  than  the 
laugh  of  houris  or  all  else  men  love.  For  gold  he  would 
give  up  his  soul,  and  so,  for  gold,  he  offered  to  me 
Zelda's  life.  A  year  I  had  to  raise  the  sum  he  named, 
when,  if  I  fail,  my  sister  will  be  sold  and  I  —  and  I  — " 

Unable  to  continue,  Ali  buried  his  face  in  his  hands 
and  wept. 

The  effect  of  such  a  tale  thus  told  can  better  be 
imagined  than  expressed.  Despite  the  fact  that  we 
were  two  hard-headed  and,  I  was  about  to  say,  hard- 
hearted, newspaper  men,  we  yielded  to  the  subtle  in- 
fluence of  the  recital  and  our  environment.  This 
ragged  Arab  became  to  both  of  us  a  prince  in  disguise. 
As  we  looked  upon  his  silent  grief,  we  forgot  that  the 
tale  we  had  just  heard  was  but  the  everyday  occur- 
rence of  a  semi-civilized  people  —  a  tale  which  num- 
bered its  counterpart  by  the  score  in  the  history  of  the 
North  American  Indian;  forgot  that  we  were  not 
knights  errant  leading  a  war-like  crusade  against  a 
host,  but  guests  of  the  ruler  of  the  land  in  which  these 
events  are  common;  forgot  that  it  was  just  an  ordi- 
narily good  newspaper  story,  and  then  and  there 
promised,  by  all  that  was  good,  not  only  Ali,  but  our- 
selves, that  we  would  rescue  this  flower  of  the 
desert. 

It  was  a  wild  and  foolish  thing  to  do,  but  in  Persia 


108  DOUGLAS 

one  may  do  foolish  things  and  not  be  surprised  —  and 
this  was  only  the  beginning. 

Just  how  we  proposed  to  rescue  the  fair  Zelda 
neither  of  us  had  the  slightest  idea.  Of  course,  it  was 
plain  from  the  ending  of  Ali's  tale  that  the  thing  that 
was  worrying  him  was  that  the  year  was  about  up  and 
he  didn't  have  the  requisite  ransom,  nor  anywhere  near 
it.  We  were  not  in  a  position  to  pay  it  for  him,  nor 
would  it  ever  have  occurred  to  us  to  have  done  so  if 
we  could.  The  paying  of  ransom  is  altogether  un- 
American;  so  we  at  once  set  about  divining  some  way 
to  effect  the  rescue  with  lead,  steel  or  stratagem  rather 
than  with  gold. 

From  the  description  given  us  by  AH,  the  bandit 
band  made  its  headquarters  in  the  mountains  some- 
where between  our  present  camping  place  and  Yezd, 
some  days'  journey  south.  We  could  just  as  well 
march  nearer  the  mountains  as  to  follow  the  customary 
trail  —  for  that  is  practically  all  a  highway  in  Persia 
is  —  and  this  would  bring  us  into  what  might  be 
termed  Ilderim's  territory.  Although  Hassim  told  us 
it  was  a  dangerous  thing  to  do,  we  did  it  any  way. 
Thus  it  was,  that  the  afternoon  of  August  24th  found 
us,  after  four  days  of  desert  travel,  winding  our  way 
slowly  along  a  sort  of  natural  road  —  caused  by  the 
peculiarity  of  the  desert  formations  —  many  miles  out 
of  the  way  of  caravan  or  post  travel  between  Teheran 
and  the  ancient  capital. 

To  avoid  the  dust,  Douglas  and  I  always  rode  some 
little  distance  in  advance  of  the  caravan  with  Hassim 
at  our  side.  He  was  a  living  arsenal,  while  Douglas 
and  I,  except  for  the  automatic  Colt's  revolvers  we  had 


A  DESERT  EXPERIENCE  109 

been  advised  to  wear,  carried  only  light  Winchesters 
slung  in  cases  from  our  saddle  bows.  I  often  wond- 
ered as  I  looked  at  Hassim  what  would  happen  in  case 
he  should  desire  to  unlimber  his  artillery,  for  it  seemed 
to  me  the  engagement  would  be  over  long  before  he 
would  be  able  to  get  into  action. 

Looking  back  over  my  shoulder,  I  could  see  most 
of  our  caravan  strung  along  for  half  a  mile  or  more,  the 
dromedaries  leading  and  the  donkeys  trailing  along 
behind.  Ali  had  taken  up  his  position  with  the  donkey 
drivers,  although  Douglas  had  insisted  that  as  a  son  of 
an  Emir,  and  a  wearer  of  the  green  turban,  he  should 
ride  in  front  with  us. 

Hassim  had  been  telling  us  of  some  of  the  wonder- 
ful adventures  of  the  early  mythological  heroes  of 
ancient  Persia;  of  Hushing  who  discovered  fire  and 
was  the  inaugurator  of  fire  worship  —  which  is  still 
practised  in  Persia  to  a  considerable  degree.  Hushing, 
it  appears,  while  on  a  journey,  was  attacked  by  a  fear- 
ful beast,  the  like  of  which  had  never  been  seen  before. 
Having  no  weapon  with  which  to  slay  so  fierce  a  foe, 
Hushing  seized  a  great  stone  and  hurled  it  at  the  beast. 
His  aim  was  untrue  so  that  instead  of  striking  the 
beast,  the  stone  glanced  across  a  huge  rock,  striking 
therefrom  sparks  of  fire.  These  falling  into  the  dry 
grass  ignited  a  flame  which  spread  rapidly  and  con- 
sumed all  about,  even  the  beast.  So  grateful  was 
Hushing  for  his  deliverance,  that  he  instituted  the 
worship  of  fire,  which  seemed  the  mightiest  of  all 
powers. 

"Then  it  is  not  really  the  fire  that  is  worshipped," 
said  Douglas,  "but  what  it  stands  for." 


110  DOUGLAS 

A  reply  was  never  given.  Instead  a  fusillade  of 
shots  was  heard,  and  turning,  we  beheld  a  band  of  a 
dozen  or  more  horsemen  circling  about  our  caravan, 
attempting,  it  seemed  to  me,  to  stampede  the  donkeys. 
Our  half  dozen  guards  were  returning  the  fire,  the 
picture  reminding  me  greatly  of  a  celebrated  painting 
of  desert  activity. 

Neither  Douglas  nor  I  are  fighters.  I  want  to  im- 
press that  upon  every  one.  We  might,  under  stress, 
have  followed  Roosevelt  up  San  Juan  hill  —  in  fact 
Douglas  did,  —  coward  though  he  claimed  to  be  —  in 
order  to  be  able  to  write  the  story ;  but  he  would  much 
rather  have  remained  in  camp.  It  was  only  the  news- 
paper instinct  that  tempted  him  to  the  other  course 
and  that  same  instinct  now  led  us  to  turn  about  and 
charge  down  upon  the  attacking  horsemen.  We  did 
not  want  to  be  scooped  by  Hassim  Kahn,  nor  were 
we  —  although  he  unlimbered  and  got  into  action  in 
a  surprisingly  short  time. 

Putting  spurs  to  our  horses  we  were  within  firing 
distance  almost  before  we  knew  it,  and  cutting  loose 
with  our  automatics  we  created  such  a  diversion  that 
the  marauders  turned  and  fled  —  evidently  judging 
our  strength  by  our  noise,  rather  than  by  our  numbers. 
I  question  if  they  had  ever  heard  the  fire  of  an  auto- 
matic before,  and  it  must  have  surprised  them. 

Upon  arriving  at  the  caravan  we  found  that  the  only 
damage  done  had  been  the  wounding  of  one  of  the 
dromedaries,  a  bullet  having  passed  directly  through 
both  cheeks;  but  we  found  AH  in  a  state  of  the  most 
intense  excitement  —  a  condition  wholly  unusual. 

Among    the    attacking    band    he    had    recognized 


A  DESERT  EXPERIENCE  111 

Ilderim,  his  sister's  captor,  so  that  this  was  undoubt- 
edly the  outfit  we  were  seeking. 

Immediately  the  information  was  imparted  to  us,  a 
council  of  war  was  called.  We  evidently  had  arrived 
in  the  enemy's  country,  and  he  was  nearer  than  we 
supposed.  The  first  step,  therefore,  was  to  select  a 
suitable  spot  for  an  encampment  and  either  open 
negotiations  with  Ilderim  and  threaten  him  with  the 
displeasure  of  the  Shah,  or,  by  strategy,  to  rescue 
Zelda  from  his  hands.  The  idea  of  attacking  the 
band  in  its  mountain  fastness  we  knew  to  be  out  of  the 
question. 

In  our  perplexity,  Ali  offered  the  solution  and 
proved  himself  a  true  son  of  the  desert,  both  in  bravery 
and  craftiness.  He  suggested  that  the  caravan  pro- 
ceed on  its  way  for  several  miles,  as  though  nothing 
unusual  had  happened,  leaving  him  secreted  among 
the  rocks  which  lined  the  natural  roadway.  There 
was  little  doubt  that  the  bandits  would  follow  us,  even 
though  our  automatics  might  prevent  another  attack 
except  under  the  most  favorable  circumstances.  Ali 
would  then  try  and  locate  the  camping  place  without 
being  seen  and  find  out  what  chance  there  was  of  rescu- 
ing his  sister. 

The  plan  looked  good  from  a  newspaperman's 
standpoint,  and  so  it  was  decided  upon. 

Rearranging  our  caravan,  with  the  six  guards  in 
the  rear  and  ourselves  at  the  head  to  give  spies,  whom 
we  felt  certain  were  watching  us,  the  impression  that 
we  were  taking  the  quickest  and  safest  plan  for  escap- 
ing, we  again  took  up  our  march,  leaving  Ali  secreted 
as  we  had  planned. 


112  DOUGLAS 

During  the  next  hour  and  half  we  made  about  five 
miles,  and  along  about  an  hour  before  sundown  we 
pitched  our  camp  in  the  open  desert,  at  least  a  mile 
from  the  nearest  foothills,  where  it  was  impossible  for 
any  one  to  approach  without  crossing  the  open  space. 

There  was  a  new  moon,  so  we  knew  the  first  part  of 
the  night  would  be  light  enough  to  see.  After  the 
moon  should  set,  we  placed  our  dependence  upon  a 
couple  of  unhappy  dogs  which  belonged  to  an  Arabian 
muleteer. 

Before  leaving  the  States,  Douglas  and  I  had  each 
supplied  ourselves  with  powerful  electric  flashlights 
which  we  carried  in  our  pockets.  He  had  found  them 
most  useful  in  traveling  and  we  had  put  them  into  our 
kits  when  we  left  Teheran.  These,  also,  we  felt  would 
be  useful  in  our  watch. 

Our  opinion  of  Hassim  had  been  considerably  bet- 
tered by  his  action  of  the  afternoon  and  so  when  he  set 
watches,  we  felt  quite  safe.  However,  we  decided 
that  one  of  us  should  remain  on  guard  all  night  and  so 
we  did;  but  all  of  our  precautions  proved  unnecessary, 
for  there  was  not  the  slightest  effort  to  disturb  us;  but 
neither  did  Ali  make  his  appearance,  although  we  had 
expected  his  return  to  camp  by  daylight. 

His  failure  to  appear  completely  upset  our  plans. 
If  we  did  not  resume  our  march  at  daylight,  the  bandits 
naturally  would  infer  that  we  were  waiting  for  some- 
one. If  we  did  proceed,  we  should  get  out  of  touch 
with  Ali. 

"I'm  afraid  something  has  happened  to  him,"  said 
Douglas,  "and  I  don't  feel  like  going  too  far  away 
from  what  seems  to  be  Ilderim's  territory," 


A  DESERT  EXPERIENCE  113 

At  this  juncture  Hassim  came  to  the  rescue. 

"Let  us  start  as  though  resuming  our  journey,"  he 
advised.  "We  can  easily  perceive  if  we  are  followed 
and  if  not,  let  us  lose  ourselves  behind  yonder  hill, 
where,  instead  of  continuing  our  way,  we  can  halt. 
If  we  wish,  we  will  even  be  able  to  double  back  on  our 
tracks." 

The  advice  seemed  good  and  we  broke  camp. 

The  hill,  toward  which  we  took  our  way,  seemed 
some  two  miles  distant.  From  our  camping  place  it 
looked  nearly  conical  and  had  the  appearance  of  hav- 
ing been  built  by  human  hands  rather  than  nature. 
As  we  approached,  we  perceived  that  on  the  other  side 
of  it  the  entire  plain  descended  abruptly  —  so  abruptly 
in  fact,  that  when  we  reached  the  spot  we  found  it  so 
precipitous  as  to  make  the  descent  exceedingly  diffi- 
cult. A  broad  ledge,  however,  extended  around  the 
side  of  the  hill,  leading  downward,  and  along  this  we 
wended  our  way,  Hassim  and  a  guard  leading  and 
Douglas  and  I  bringing  up  the  rear. 

As  we  wound  our  way  still  further  about  the  hill 
the  ledge  descended  still  more  abruptly,  until,  coming 
around  a  short  turn,  it  led  directly  down  into  a  little 
basin,  the  bottom  of  which  was  a  level  field  of  possibly 
twenty-five  acres,  covered  with  a  wealth  of  verdure. 
Through  the  center  of  the  field  ran  a  small  stream, 
whose  source,  we  learned  later,  was  a  bubbling  spring. 

It  was  a  most  wonderful  oasis,  and  as  the  scene 
burst  upon  us  an  exclamation  of  surprise  and  delight 
came  from  all  lips,  while  the  thirsty  animals  set  off  at 
a  sharp  trot  toward  the  stream,  from  which  they  were 
speedily  drinking  their  fill. 


114  DOUGLAS 

While  the  animals  were  slaking  their  thirst,  we 
gazed  about  us  in  perfect  wonder.  It  seemed  like 
some  enchanted  spot,  especially  as  nowhere  was  there 
any  sign  of  animal  life,  nor  was  there  any  indication 
that  the  place  ever  had  been  inhabited. 

The  field  was  so  abruptly  marked  by  the  sandy  slopes 
of  surrounding  hills  that,  as  in  the  case  of  the  largest 
hill,  the  basin  appeared  artificial.  Along  the  edge 
of  the  stream,  which,  as  we  could  see,  lost  itself  in  a 
sink-hole  under  one  hill,  grew  several  clusters  of  trees, 
under  the  shade  of  one  of  which  we  were  resting. 
They  were  laden  with  golden  apricots  and  pomegran- 
ates, while  in  the  sandy  patches  which  dotted  the  outer 
edges  of  the  little  plain,  the  gleam  of  scarlet  straw- 
berries could  be  seen.  Flowers  of  numerous  varieties 
grew  in  profusion,  and  as  I  gazed  about  me  there 
came  to  my  mind  the  beautiful  words  of  Moore: 

"Who  has  not  heard  of  the  vale  of  Cashmere, 
With  its  roses  the  brightest  the  earth  ever  gave?" 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it  ?"  asked  Douglas. 

"It  must  be  the  lost  garden  of  Eden,"  I  replied, 
completely  under  the  spell  of  its  unexpected  beauty. 

"Strange  that  it  isn't  inhabited,"  he  laughed.  "I 
don't  see  any  cherubim  with  flaming  swords  guarding 
the  entrances." 

"No,"  was  my  rejoinder,  "but  I  shouldn't  be  sur- 
prised to  see  them  appear  at  any  time." 

The  words  were  hardly  out  of  my  mouth,  ere  there 
came  clearly,  though  faintly,  to  our  ears  the  sound  of 
singing  —  so  low,  weird,  and  sweet,  that  it  did  not 
seem  possible  that  it  should  have  come  from  any  human 
throat. 


A  DESERT  EXPERIENCE  115 

Instinctively  every  voice  was  hushed  and  the 
Moslems  fell  upon  their  faces. 

For  only  a  few  moments  did  the  sound  continue 
and  then  it  died  away  in  a  little  quavering  note  which 
it  seemed  I  should  recognize,  but  which,  for  the  life  of 
me,  I  could  not. 

While  I  searched  my  memory,  Douglas  exclaimed: 
"It's  Ali." 

"Of  course,"  I  replied.  "Strange  I  couldn't 
place  it." 

We  turned  our  eyes  in  every  direction,  expecting  io 
see  him  appear  over  the  hilltop,  or  from  behind  some 
bush,  or  tree. 

"It  is  an  angel,"  murmured  Hassim,  "and  this  is 
the  garden  of  Allah.  Let  us  go." 

"Not  on  your  life,"  exclaimed  Douglas.  "Allah 
or  no  Allah,  I'm  going  to  know  where  that  song  came 
from." 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE    GARDEN   OF   JOY 

FOR  a  man  who  claims  to  be  a  coward,  the  words 
of  Douglas  were  about  as  foolish  as  could  have  been 
uttered  under  the  circumstances.  They  were  hardly 
spoken  ere  the  entire  band,  including  Hassim,  turned 
upon  him  as  though  he  had  committed  a  sacrilege, 
and  what  they  might  have  done  on  the  impulse  of  the 
moment,  I  do  not  know;  but  ere  they  had  taken  a 
dozen  steps  toward  him,  again  the  song  was  heard, 
louder  and  clearer,  as  though  drawing  nearer.  Again 
all  the  Moslems  prostrated  themselves  on  the  earth 
and  there  they  remained  until  the  song  again  died 
away  in  one  long,  clear  note. 

A.S  it  ended  Douglas  turned  his  horse  from  the 
stream  and  started  to  ride  toward  the  hill  from  which 
the  voice  seemed  to  have  come;  but  Hassim  interposed 
to  prevent. 

Divining  his  purpose,  Douglas  asked : 

"What  objection  can  there  be  to  solving  the 
mystery?" 

"It  cannot  be  solved,"  replied  Hassim  in  an  awed 
voice. 

"Why  not?" 

"Can't  you  see,"  he  asked  in  the  same  awed  tone, 
"that  this  is  not  a  real  oasis  ?" 

116 


THE  GARDEN  OF  JOY  117 

We  looked  at  him  in  surprise. 

"Not  a  real  oasis!"  exclaimed  Douglas,  "Then 
what  is  it?" 

"I  cannot  answer,  but  it  must  be  the  work  of 
enchantment." 

We  regarded  him  with  the  utmost  surprise,  while 
the  other  members  of  the  caravan  gathered  near  to 
catch  the  words. 

"Can't  you  see,"  he  continued,  "that  if  it  had 
always  been  here  it  would  be  inhabited;  that  there 
would  be  a  dwelling  or  dwellings  and  that  the  fertile 
field  would  be  under  cultivation?  Surely,  if  it  were 
not  enchanted,  our  feet  would  not  have  been  the  first 
to  press  its  soil." 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  enchantment," 
declared  Douglas  in  an  annoyed  tone,  "but  surely 
the  water  is  real  water  or  the  horses  would  not  have 
drunk  it.  This  grass  and  these  trees  are  real  and 
before  we  leave  I  expect  to  pluck  an  abundance  of 
this  fruit." 

"It  must  not  be,"  said  Hassim.  "We  must  get  out 
of  here  at  once,  or  something  dire  will  surely  follow." 

"All  right,"  replied  Douglas  testily,  "if  you  want 
to  go,  why  go  you  must;  but  I  am  not  going  to  leave 
this  place  until  I  see  the  singer  of  that  song  and  get 
some  word  of  Ali.  I  have  promised  and  I  shall  keep 
my  promise." 

Again  came  the  mysterious  music  and  again  the 
Moslems  prostrated  themselves. 

"It  is  the  third  time."  exclaimed  Hassim  and  his 
swarthy  face  was  ashy  with  fear,  "I  shall  at  once  lead 
the  caravan  on  its  way." 


118  DOUGLAS 

Then  to  the  muleteers,  "Come!  Turn  your  beasts 
toward  the  desert  and  let  us  go  ere  Allah  strike  us 
down  for  entering  this  place." 

For  a  moment  we  said  nothing,  but  as  the  caravan 
slowly  gathered  itself  in  order  and  started  back 
around  the  ledge,  turning  to  Hassim,  Douglas  said : 

"You  were  instructed  to  convey  us  to  Kerman. 
If  you  go  without  us,  let  the  responsibility  fall  upon 
your  own  head;  but  I  demand  that  you  leave  us 
sufficient  provisions  to  last  until  we  can  reach  the 
nearest  village,  after  we  have  fulfilled  our  promise  to 
Ali  —  or  at  least  made  some  effort  to  do  so." 

Without  a  word  Hassim  rode  forward  and  turned 
aside  one  of  the  donkeys,  on  which  was  strapped  a 
large  pack  of  provisions. 

"Here,"  he  exclaimed  as  he  drove  the  little  beast 
back,  "Here  is  sufficient  food  to  last  you  a  week.  I 
shall  proceed  at  once  to  Yezd.  There  I  shall  await 
your  arrival  three  days.  If  you  do  not  arrive  by  that 
time  I  shall  know  you  are  dead." 

He  put  spurs  to  his  horse  and  galloped  after  the 
caravan,  which  was  just  passing  out  of  sight  around 
the  bend  in  the  roadway,  while  once  more  that  weird 
song  sounded  in  the  little  vale. 

"Well,"  I  exclaimed,  as  Hassim  Kahn  also  dis- 
appeared around  the  bend,  "we  seem  to  be  in  a  nice 
mess." 

Douglas  gave  me  a  surprised  and  questioning  look 
as  he  exclaimed: 

"You  didn't  want  to  go,  too,  did  you  ?" 

"Not  without  Ali,"  I  exclaimed,  for  by  this  time  I 
had  become  certain  that  the  singer  was  Ali  and  that 


THE  GARDEN  OF  JOY  119 

the  song  was  some  sort  of  a  signal,  although  for  the 
life  of  me  I  could  not  determine  what  it  could  be. 

"I'm  glad  to  get  rid  of  them  so  easily,"  said 
Douglas,  "for  there  is  really  something  mysterious 
about  this  place.  Why  is  it  not  inhabited  ?  Surely, 
as  Hassim  said,  ours  cannot  be  the  first  eyes  to  have 
looked  upon  it." 

"And  when  AH  gets  ready  to  show  himself,  I  expect 
he  can  tell  us  something  about  it." 

"I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  it  is  not  Ali," 
said  Douglas. 

"No?"  and  I  looked  at  him  expectantly. 

"No,  I  believe  it  is  Zelda's  voice.  Did  not  Ali 
say  that  his  voice  was  as  the  thrush,  while  hers  was 
like  the  nightingale." 

"How  could  she  get  here  and  why  should  she  be 
singing  behind  a  rock,  or  wherever  she  is  hidden?" 

"Doesn't  it  occur  to  you  that  her  song  may  have  a 
meaning?" 

"I  had  thought  of  that  when  I  believed  it  was  Ali. 
What  do  you  suppose  it  means  ?  " 

"I  cannot  tell,  but  I  am  sure  it  is  a  sacred  song. 
When  we  solve  the  mystery  of  the  song,  I  think  we 
shall  be  able  also  to  solve  the  mystery  of  the  singer," 
and  Douglas'  eyes  took  on  a  faraway  look  as  though 
trying  to  recall  some  long-forgotten  scene. 

"It  would  seem  easier  to  solve  the  mystery  of  the 
singer,"  I  suggested,  "However,  let's  unload  the 
donkey  in  some  shady  nook  and  then  see  what  we  can 
find  out.  I  do  not  think  there  is  any  reason  why  we 
should  not  overtake  the  caravan  at  Yezd." 

Suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  I  drove  the  little 


120  DOUGLAS 

beast  toward  a  somewhat  larger  clump  of  trees 
nearer  the  mouth  of  the  stream,  while  Douglas  rode 
slowly  around  the  edge  of  the  field,  where  the  rise  of 
the  hill  became  quite  abrupt.  As  I  reached  the  spot 
I  had  selected  and  was  throwing  the  pack  from  the 
donkey,  I  saw  for  the  first  time  that  the  stream  dis- 
appeared, as  I  have  previously  stated,  into  a  sink- 
hole, or,  more  properly  speaking,  a  small  aperture 
like  the  mouth  of  a  cave,  which  led  under  the  hill  to 
the  northeast  of  the  plain. 

Having  relieved  the  donkey  of  its  burden  and 
hobbled  it  so  it  could  not  run  away,  I  leisurely  rode 
down  stream,  intending  to  meet  Douglas  where  the 
water  disappeared  under  the  hill.  At  the  same  time 
I  kept  my  eyes  on  the  hillside  from  which  the  singer's 
voice  had  seemed  to  come,  expecting  to  see  some  one, 
when  suddenly  the  song  burst  forth  again,  apparently 
right  at  my  side. 

That  it  was  no  trick  of  my  imagination  was  proved 
by  the  manner  in  which  my  horse  pricked  up  his  ears. 
He  gave  a  little  start,  just  as  though  some  had  spoken 
to  him  from  behind.  I  turned  my  head  quickly  in 
every  direction,  but  there  was  no  one  in  sight  save 
Douglas,  who  was  riding  along  slowly,  with  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  little  cavern,  into  which  the  stream 
disappeared. 

"Well,"  I  thought  to  myself,  "this  certainly  is  a 
mysterious  place,"  and  for  the  first  time  since  we  had 
entered  it,  I  began  to  have  an  uncanny  feeling  and 
half  wished  I  were  out  of  the  adventure.  However, 
as  the  singing  again  ceased  I  called  out  to  Douglas : 

"What  do  you  make  of  it?" 


THE  GARDEN  OF  JOY  121 

The  effect  of  my  shout  was  most  startling.  From 
all  sides  came  back  the  echo  of  my  voice  in  a  con- 
fused babel  of  sound.  My  horse  stopped  still  and 
looked  about  in  perplexity.  He  seemed  half  inclined 
to  bolt,  and  I  was  half  a  mind  to  let  him,  when  I 
noticed  Douglas  put  spurs  to  his  horse  and  dash 
toward  the  little  cavern  I  haw  mentioned.  Feeling 
sure  that  he  had  made  a  discovery  of  some  kind  I 
followed  his  example  and  we  were  soon  at  the  stream's 
mouth. 

Now,  this  is  not  a  mystery  story,  nor  am  I  writing  it 
save  for  the  purpose  of  showing  you  what  kind  of 
a  man  Douglas  was,  and  the  various  emotions  which 
seemed  to  impel  him  —  above  and  over  all  being  his 
sense  of  fear,  which  ever  and  anon  took  possession  of 
him  and  showed  in  his  face  to  such  a  degree  as  to  be 
absolutely  pitiable. 

True,  these1  periods  were  usually  of  such  short  dura- 
tion as  sometimes  to  cause  a  chance  acquaintance  to 
think  he  had  been  mistaken :  but  to  me,  who  have  seen 
it  so  often,  there  is  no  doubt  as  to  its  cause. 

This  was  the  expression  most  in  evidence  on 
Douglas'  face  as  we  turned  and  looked  into  each 
other's  eyes,  after  one  hasty  glance  into  the  cavern. 

To  my  mind,  there  was  absolutely  no  occasion  for 
fear,  and  to  encounter  such  a  look  under  such  circum- 
stances was  so  unexpected  that  for  the  first  time  in 
our  acquaintance  I  referred  directly  to  it. 

"What  are  you  afraid  of?"  I  asked. 

For  just  an  instant  he  bent  upon  me  such  an  intense 
look  —  a  look  whose  meaning  and  intent  I  could  not 
fathom — that  I  did  not  know  but  he  meant  to  attack  me. 


122  DOUGLAS 

"Who  said  I  was  afraid  ?"  he  snapped. 

"Nobody!  You  just  look  it,  that's  all.  What  is 
there  to  be  afraid  of  ?" 

Like  the  passing  of  a  cloud  his  mood  changed  and 
he  replied  with  a  laugh: 

"Nothing!  But  where  do  you  suppose  it  leads  to  ? " 
and  he  pointed  to  a  spiral  stairway,  only  a  few  steps 
of  which  could  be  seen. 

"Give  it  up,"  I  replied.  "It  looks  like  a  mighty 
uncertain  proposition." 

"Uncertain  it  certainly  is,"  and  there  came  into  his 
eyes  a  faraway  look  which  explained  to  me  perfectly 
his  fear  of  a  moment  previous.  It  was  the  fear  of 
uncertainty.  It  just  seemed  to  be  born  in  him. 
While  there  was  no  question  as  to  his  determination  to 
fathom  the  mystery,  the  suggestion  of  uncertainty 
had  for  the  moment  unnerved  him. 

Interested  as  I  was  in  the  matter  in  hand,  I  found 
myself  wondering  what  would  really  be  his  feelings 
when  the  time  came  in  which  he  should  realize  —  as 
every  mortal  man  must  —  that  all  hope  had  fled  and 
he  must  surely  die.  Why  such  a  thought  should 
have  passed  through  my  mind,  sitting  there  astride 
my  horse  and  with  a  big  story  staring  me  in  the  face, 
I  know  not;  but  it  did. 

I  was  aroused  from  my  meditation  by  another  burst 
of  song.  This  time  there  was  no  doubt  whence  it 
came.  The  reason  we  had  not  located  it  sooner  was 
due  to  the  peculiar  formation  of  the  hills,  which  were 
veritable  sounding  boards. 

As  we  listened,  Douglas  broke  into  laughter  so 
hearty  that  there  was  no  mistaking  that  something 


THE  GARDEN  OF  JOY  123 

ludicrous  had  flashed  across  his  mind.     Seeing   my 
puzzled  expression,  he  exclaimed: 

"His  master's  voice!" 

No  other  explanation  of  his  hilarity  was  necessary. 
There  we  stood  listening,  just  like  the  fox  terrier  in 
the  advertisement.  The  cavern  was  the  phonograph 
and  all  that  was  needed  to  complete  the  picture  was  a 
huge  trumpet  suspended  in  the  aperture. 

As  the  singing  ceased  Douglas  sprang  from  his 
horse,  all  indecision  having  been  laid  aside. 

"The  sooner  we  get  to  the  bottom  of  this,"  he  said, 
"the  sooner  we  can  join  the  caravan.  I  didn't  come 
to  Persia  on  any  such  assignment,  but  you  certainly 
will  have  a  yarn  worth  printing." 

"What  had  we  better  do  with  our  horses  ?"  I  asked 
as  I  also  dismounted. 

"There  isn't  but  one  thing  we  can  do,"  he  replied. 
"Hobble  them  so  we  can  catch  them  easily  and  take 
a  chance  on  it.  I'm  sure  they'll  not  leave  this  grass 
and  water,  and  if  there  are  visitors  while  we  are  gone, 
why,  so  much  the  worse  for  us. 

"But  I  don't  believe,"  he  continued  as  we  took  off 
the  saddles,  "that  we  shall  be  disturbed.  The 
dwellers  of  the  desert  for  some  reason  evidently  give 
the  place  a  wide  berth.  That's  why  I  cannot  account 
for  the  voice." 

"You  feel  certain  it  is  Zelda?" 

"Yes;  but  who  is  Zelda?  We  know  only  what  AH 
has  told  us.  Where  did  she  learn  that  song  ?" 

"Wherever  AH  learned  it,  I  suppose." 

"Oh,  no!  He  learned  it  from  her.  Do  you  re- 
member the  first  time  we  heard  AH  sing,  that  you 


124  DOUGLAS 

asked  me  if  I  had  ever  heard  anything  like  it  before 
and  I  replied,  'Yes,  once?" 

"I  believe  I  do,  but  I  had  forgotten  it.  Where  was 
it?" 

"In  the  Transvaal  during  the  Boer  war.  It  was 
at  the  siege  of  Maf eking.  There  had  been  nothing 
doing  for  two  or  three  days  and  with  a  couple  of 
natives  I  had  left  the  intrenchments  and  gone  up  into 
the  mountains  for  a  little  smaller  game.  We  pitched 
our  camp  in  the  bush  at  the  foot  of  a  huge  rock,  against 
which  we  built  our  fire. 

"It  was  possibly  a  couple  of  hours  after  dark,  and 
just  about  as  we  were  ready  to  turn  in,  that  there 
came  to  our  ears  the  sound  of  strange  music  —  music 
much  like  that  we  have  been  hearing  today.  The 
natives  immediately  bowed  themselves  to  the  ground, 
and  I  must  confess  that  it  was  not  to  be  wondered  at. 
I  almost  felt  like  doing  likewise.  The  song  was 
repeated  three  times,  each  time  seeming  to  die  away 
in  the  distance.  Then,  at  the  top  of  a  peak  just  above 
our  heads,  there  shot  up  for  a  moment  a  shaft  of  fire 
and  then  all  was  darkness. 

"In  the  morning  I  explored  the  locality,  but  could 
find  nothing;  and  while  we  remained  in  the  neighbor- 
hood for  several  days  and  camped  each  night  in  the 
same  spot,  we  did  not  hear  it  again,  nor  were  any  of  us 
able  to  determine  who  or  what  it  was.  Since  then  I 
have  thought  much  upon  the  matter  and  had  already 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  the  religious  song 
of  some  wanderer  from  another  land.  Now  I  am 
more  than  ever  convinced.  Even  were  it  not  for  my 
interest  in  Ali  and  his  sister,  I  still  would  be  anxious 


THE  GARDEN  OF  JOY  125 

to  solve  this  mystery.     That  is  why  I  am  glad  Hassim 
took  himself  and  his  followers  away." 

Douglas'  story  put  an  entirely  new  phase  upon  the 
adventure  and,  to  my  mind,  while  it  possibly  increased 
the  sense  of  personal  danger,  it  likewise  increased  my 
interest. 

Secreting  our  saddles  and  rifles  as  best  we  could, 
and  with  our  automatics  in  one  hand  and  our  electric 
flashlights  in  the  other,  we  made  ready  to  enter  the 
cavern,  Douglas  leading  the  way. 

"Why,"  some  one  may  ask,  "if  Douglas  were  so 
full  of  fear,  should  he  lead  the  way?"  I  can  only 
answer  that  he  did. 

Since  I  have  been  studying  this  question  of  fear, 
I  have  talked  with  a  large  number  of  old  soldiers. 
Many  have  told  me  that  they  never  went  into  a 
battle  that  they  were  not  possessed  with  an  almost 
irresistible  impulse  to  run  away.  Some  have  told  me 
that  they  were  so  frightened  that  their  legs  almost 
gave  way  under  them;  but  the  fear  of  being  called  a 
coward  was  still  greater  and  acted  as  a  stimulus  to 
urge  them  forward.  It  was  simply  the  greater  fear 
overcoming  the  lesser. 

I  do  not  say  this  was  the  case  with  Douglas.  I 
simply  offer  it  as  a  possible  solution  of  some  of  his 
acts. 

On  entering  the  cavern,  the  arch  was  so  low  that  we 
were  obliged  to  sit  down  with  our  feet  hanging  over 
the  top  step  —  just  as  when  a  child  you  used  to 
descend  the  garret  stairs.  Of  course  as  we  descended 
a  couple  of  steps,  we  were  able  to  stand  upright  and 
thus  continue  the  descent. 


126  DOUGLAS 

"There  is  no  need  of  more  than  one  light,"  said 
Douglas,  after  we  had  gone  down  some  steps,  "and 
we  had  better  husband  our  electricity." 

Accordingly  I  removed  my  thumb  from  the  button 
of  my  light,  and  we  descended  by  the  glare  of  Douglas' 
spark. 

While  the  stairway  appeared  to  be  of  stone,  we  soon 
perceived  that  it  was  hewn  out  of  the  hard  sand. 
The  steps  were  about  thirty  inches  wide  —  just  wide 
enough  to  permit  one  person  to  descend  at  a  time. 
I  had  counted  twenty-six  of  these,  when  Douglas  — 
who  was  some  three  steps  in  advance  —  exclaimed: 

"Here's  the  bottom." 

I  descended  a  step  lower  and  we  peered  ahead 
into  the  gloom. 

"What  do  you  make  of  it?"  I  asked. 

"Only  a  narrow  passageway,  leading  to  nobody 
knows  where." 

"Suppose  I  go  ahead,"  I  suggested.  "I'm  taller 
and  can  see  better." 

He  stepped  to  one  side  and  I  crowded  past. 

"We  don't  seem  to  be  getting  anywhere,"  I  said 
after  a  couple  of  minutes. 

Then  we  stopped  and  peered  ahead  again. 

"It  surely  is  a  ticklish  kind  of  place,"  he  ad- 
mitted. "But  it  must  lead  somewhere.  It  wasn't 
dug  just  for  amusement." 

We  walked  along  a  couple  of  minutes  longer  and 
then  the  passageway  came  to  an  end,  just  as  though 
whoever  had  started  to  dig  the  tunnel  had  been  forced 
to  stop.  It  was  not  a  flat  wall  nor  a  door  that  con- 


THE  GARDEN  OF  JOY  127 

fronted  us,  but  an  irregular  wall,  showing  plainly  the 
prints  of  shovels. 

I  stood  to  one  side  as  well  as  I  was  able,  to  give 
Douglas  room  to  examine  it. 

"What  do  you  make  of  it?"  I  asked. 

"Looks  as  though  whoever  had  been  at  work  had 
become  tired,"  he  replied. 

"Exactly,"  I  declared.  "Simply  a  blind  passage- 
way." 

"There  must  be  an  opening  out  of  this  some  way," 
said  Douglas.     "It's  probably  in  the  side  and  we've 
overlooked  it  in  the  dark.     We'll  go  back  and  examine 
the  side  walls  as  we  go." 

Slowly  we  retraced  our  steps,  flashing  our  lights  along 
the  walls,  but  there  was  clearly  no  opening.  The 
passageway  was  dug  right  through  what  appeared  to 
be  the  same  glistening  soil  as  that  which  comprised  the 
sandy  desert,  and  there  was  no  indication  of  a  door 
or  a  lateral  tunnel. 

"Strange  we  don't  get  any  light  from  the  stairway," 
remarked  Douglas  after  we  had  gone  back  fully  as 
far  as  we  had  entered.  "We  must  be  close  to  the 
stairs." 

"That's  what  I  was  thinking.  I'll  be  glad  to  see 
the  sun  again." 

When,  after  a  couple  of  minutes,  the  stairs  did  not 
appear,  *  we  involuntarily  quickened  our  footsteps 
and  unmindful  of  the  fact  that  we  were  supposed  to 
be  examining  the  sides  of  the  wall,  we  finally  broke 
into  a  run,  filled  with  a  nameless  dread  of  something  — 
we  knew  not  what;  the  same  fear  that  must  come 


128  DOUGLAS 

to  a  man  who  should  suddenly  awake  to  find  himself 
buried  alive;  but  the  stairs  did  not  appear.  There 
was  now  no  doubt  that  we  had  fully  retraced  the 
distance  we  had  come  into  the  passage  and  we  both 
knew  it  as  we  sped  on  toward  —  what  ? 

It  is  a  wonder  to  me  that  we  did  not  both  perish  of 
fright  then  and  there.  Indeed,  it  seemed  to  me  that 
I  should,  and  I  can  well  imagine  how  Douglas  must 
have  felt,  when  again  came  the  singing. 

We  stopped  short  in  our  tracks  and  gazed  into 
each  other's  blanched  faces.  Our  nerveless  thumbs 
forgot  to  press  the  buttons  and  we  found  ourselves  in 
utter  darkness. 

Then  came  a  flash  and  the  place  was  lighted  by  a 
sudden  glare  and  we  beheld  a  large  room  filled  with 
what  appeared  to  be  a  congregation  of  devout  wor- 
shippers 


CHAPTER  X 

ZELDA 

IP  you  can  imagine  how  you  would  feel  to  awaken 
suddenly  and  find  yourself  in  the  midst  of  a  large  com- 
pany, clad  only  in  your  pajamas,  perhaps  you  can 
imagine  our  sensation  at  finding  ourselves  in  the  pres- 
ence of  such  an  assemblage.  Not  that  we  were  in- 
sufficiently clad,  physically,  but  mentally  we  were 
absolutely  naked.  The  experience  of  the  past  few 
minutes  had  stripped  us  of  every  raiment  of  our  wit 
and  self-possession,  and  we  simply  stood  stupefied. 

But  we  did  not  stand  long,  for  in  another  instant  we 
were  again  plunged  into  complete  darkness. 

It  might  seem  that  this  last  change  would  have  been 
worse  than  the  first.  Such,  however,  was  not  the  case. 
It  was  rather  as  though  some  one  had  taken  compas- 
sion on  our  unclad  condition  and  wrapped  us  in  a 
blanket;  and  in  that  moment  our  wits  returned. 
Grasping  our  Colts  more  firmly,  we  pressed  the  buttons 
on  our  electric  lights  and  peered  in  the  direction  of  the 
worshippers;  but  we  peered  in  vain.  Our  lights 
simply  showed  us  the  same  sandy  and  glistening  walls. 

This  time  we  did  not  content  ourselves  with  looking. 
We  struck  the  walls  with  the  barrels  of  our  Colts  and 
the  mystery  was  solved. 

The  wall  on  one  side,  instead  of  being  formed  of 
129 


130  DOUGLAS 

sand,  was  simply  a  painted  screen,  plentifully  sprinkled 
with  sand  to  give  it  the  same  glistening  effect.  So 
dense  was  the  darkness  behind  it  however,  that  even 
with  the  lights  from  both  our  sparkers  concentrated 
on  one  spot,  we  were  unable  to  penetrate  it  sufficiently 
to  see  what  was  behind  it. 

"Well,  this  is  a  rum  go,"  ejaculated  Douglas,  as  he 
stood  peering  into  the  darkness. 

"What  do  you  make  of  it?"  I  asked. 

"It  reminds  me  of  a  D.  K.  E>  initiation." 

"Only  this  is  the  real  thing,"  I  replied. 

"I  wish  there  was  some  way  of  breaking  into  what- 
ever it  is.  I  never  could  stand  suspense,"  and  again 
Douglas  tapped  on  the  screen  with  his  Colt. 

His  wish  was  answered  speedily.  Even  as  he  spoke, 
the  screen  began  to  rise,  and  to  the  accompaniment  of 
the  same  weird  singing,  the  room  slowly  became  light 
and  we  found  ourselves  in  a  lofty  chamber,  through 
the  roof  of  which  the  sunlight  filtered  in  a  diffused 
glow,  which  gave  the  impression  of  firelight.  It  was  a 
stage  effect  of  such  perfect  ingenuity  that  we  waited 
expectantly  for  the  actors  to  appear,  never  considering 
that  we  were  the  performers  and  that  those  we  had 
seen  through  the  screen  were  the  audience. 

We  were  soon  made  aware  of  it,  however,  when  at 
each  side  of  us  appeared  a  priest,  garbed  in  a  flowing 
red  robe.  Taking  us  each  by  the  arm  they  slowly 
urged  us  toward  an  altar  —  which  looked  much  like  a 
forge  and  upon  which  a  fire  was  smouldering.  There 
seemed  no  disposition  to  harm  us;  in  fact,  we  could 
feel  that  we  were  being  treated  with  unusual  deference. 

Seeing  no  reason  for  resisting,  we  allowed  ourselves 


ZELDA  131 

to  be  urged  forward,  Douglas  cautioning  me  in  a  low 
tone  not  to  let  go  my  electric  light  or  my  firearm. 
When  we  were  directly  in  front  of  the  altar,  the  con- 
gregation, for  such  it  appeared,  slowly  moved  for- 
ward, the  room  was  suddenly  darkened,  the  light  on 
the  altar  flared  up  as  though  fed  by  a  blow  pipe  and, 
led  by  the  voice  we  had  now  so  frequently  heard,  the 
entire  assemblage  burst  into  song 

I  have  given  these  details  simply  to  help  make  the 
picture  complete  in  the  minds  of  the  reader,  for  as  I 
now  look  back  upon  the  scene,  weird  and  unusual 
though  it  was,  there  is  but  one  feature  in  the  picture 
that  holds  my  attention,  even  as  it  did  then  —  the  face 
of  the  singer. 

I  am  not  a  romancer  nor  a  playwright.  I  am  a 
chronicler  of  facts.  I  have  always  prided  myself  that 
I  could  condense  the  biggest  news  story  that  ever  came 
into  the  office  into  a  stick;  but  had  I  the  ability  to 
write  against  space  as  Douglas  has,  I  could  write  a 
couple  of  columns  about  the  beauty  of  that  face  and 
still  not  do  it  justice. 

It  was  such  beauty  as  I  have  never  seen  before  — 
or  since.  It  was  Haidee,  Nourmahal,  Juliet,  and 
Sapho  combined  and  beautified  a  hundredfold.  It 
was  the  beauty  of  the  Greek,  the  Persian,  and  the 
Italian  blended  and  perfected.  It  was  to  the  eye 
what  the  music  we  had  heard  was  to  the  ear;  and  had 
I  died  that  minute  for  daring  to  look  upon  it,  I  should 
have  felt  the  price  was  none  too  dear 

To  describe  the  face  feature  by  feature  were  im- 
possible. As  well  might  one  attempt  to  describe  the 
beauty  of  the  pure  thought  which  came  to  the  Virgin 


132  DOUGLAS 

mother,  when,  in  her  clear  consciousness  was  conceived 
the  spiritual  idea  which  came  in  the  flesh  to  take  away 
the  sins  of  the  world.  Unable  to  speak,  I  stood  spell- 
bound while  Douglas  uttered  the  one  word : 

"Zelda!" 

So  moved  were  we  by  her  beauty  that,  when  the  fire 
died  down,  we  both,  as  by  a  single  impulse,  thrust 
forward  our  electric  lights  and  flashed  them  in  her 
face. 

If  she  had  appeared  beautiful  under  the  glow  of  the 
roseate  fire,  she  was  even  more  so  under  the  colorless 
electricity.  It  lent  a  transparency  to  her  skin  that 
gave  it  the  appearance  of  old  ivory.  So  marked  was 
the  effect  that  a  cry  of  surprise  and  pleasure  burst 
from  every  lip,  and  furnished  Douglas  the  idea  that 
resulted  in  the  ultimate  rescue,  not  only  of  Zelda,  but 
ourselves. 

"Shut  off  your  light,  quick,"  he  said  to  me  under 
his  breath,  himself  suiting  the  action  to  the  word. 
Then  after  a  minute,  "Now,  both  together,  and  now 
for  good." 

"Great,"  I  exclaimed,  as  we  successfully  carried  out 
the  idea. 

"Now  save  your  light,"  Douglas  whispered,  "and 
don't  let  them  see  how  it  works  if  you  can  help  it.  It's 
up  to  them  to  furnish  light  from  now  on." 

While  his  advice  was  good,  I  could  hardly  follow  it 
for  my  desire  to  look  upon  that  face  again.  I  was 
afraid  that  before  the  light  returned  it  would  be  gone; 
nor  was  I  mistaken.  For  when,  as  before,  the  rays  of 
the  sun  made  themselves  felt,  Zelda  had  disap- 
peared. 


ZELDA  133 

"What  do  you  suppose  they  have  done  with  her?"  I 
asked  Douglas. 

"Oh,  frisked  her  away  somewhere.  But  keep  your 
eyes  open." 

We  had  no  time  to  say  more,  as  there  now  emerged 
from  behind  the  altar  one  whom  I  had  not  before 
noticed.  He  was  a  man  in  the  prime  of  life  and  in  ap- 
pearance a  typical  Persian,  although  there  was  about 
him  an  air  that  bespoke  Bedouin  or  Arabian  blood. 
His  face  was  thin  and  oval  and  his  eyes  sparkled  in 
the  subdued  light  like  those  of  a  rat.  Craftiness  was 
marked  plainly  in  every  line  of  his  countenance  and 
his  lithe  form  bespoke  agility  and  strength.  All  this 
I  noticed  at  a  glance  as  he  advanced  toward  us  with  an 
air  at  once  deferential  and  commanding,  and  I  was  not 
at  all  surprised  at  the  deep  tone  of  his  voice,  when  in 
the  purest  Persian,  he  addressed  us. 

"Brothers,  sons  of  Ahura  Mazda,  and  strangers  in 
Iran,"  he  said,  "I  bid  you  welcome  to  our  midst.  For 
long  days  we  have  awaited  and  expected  your  coming, 
knowing  not  when,  nor  how  you  would  appear,  but 
ever  believing  that  the  words  of  prophecy  would  be 
fulfilled.  The  message  you  bring  has  been  eagerly 
desired  —  the  message  that  should  make  more  pure 
our  worship,  even  as  our  great  divinity,  the  Fire, 
purifies  all  it  embraces. 

"  For  long  years  we  have  felt  how  weak  we  are.  We 
have  seen  the  fiery  tracks  of  the  Omnipotent  One  as 
he  dashed  through  the  sky,  and  heard  the  thunder  of 
his  voice  as  he  strove  with  the  enemy  and  dashed  to 
earth  the  impotent  water,  making  it  the  servant  of 
earth  and  all  mankind.  We  have  bowed  us  in  the 


134  DOUGLAS 

dust,  when  in  the  distant  north  we  have  seen  the  luster 
of  the  Omnipotent  One's  crown  and  we  have  listened 
in  wonder  to  one  who,  years  ago,  came  as  a  voice  in 
the  wilderness,  telling  how  the  fire  tracks  had  come 
down  from  heaven  to  do  man's  bidding.  He  it  was 
who  prophesied  that  some  day  strangers  would  come 
to  bear  to  us  the  message  of  the  purer  worship  —  the 
worship  of  a  fire  that  burns  without  fuel,  even  as 
Ahura  Mazda  —  the  Sun  on  high." 

He  ceased  speaking  and  with  folded  arms  awaited 
our  reply,  while  from  the  rear  the  other  worshippers 
pressed  eagerly  forward  with  straining  eyes. 

Understanding  only  a  little  of  what  he  had  said,  I 
asked  Douglas,  who  silenced  me  with  a  gesture  as  he 
replied : 

"Brothers  and  worshippers  of  the  fire,  you  have 
rightly  surmised.  We  have  come  from  a  far-off  land 
across  the  great  sea  which  flows  to  the  west,  borne 
hither  by  the  power  of  the  Omnipotent  One,  which  in 
other  lands  than  this  is  the  great,  motive  power.  For 
days  we  have  marched  over  the  trackless  desert, 
guided  only  by  our  desire  to  reach  this  spot.  Arriving 
in  the  vale  above,  we  were  drawn  hither  by  the  music 
of  our  sacred  song. 

"Our  message  is  an  important  one.  It  cannot  be 
delivered  until  the  hour  has  come.  Therefore, 
brothers,  let  the  singer  again  appear,  and  by  the  pure 
light  which  we  bear  from  the  Omnipotent  One,  let  us 
for  this  time  finish  our  devotions  and  for  three  days 
resume  our  daily  vocations.  Then  shall  the  message 
be  delivered.  In  the  meantime  we  will  dwell  with  you, 


ZELDA  135 

or  we  will  make  our  abode  in  the  vale  above.  Let  the 
light  fade  and  the  singer  appear." 

Slowly  the  light  disappeared. 

"Now,"  said  Douglas  to  me,  "flash  your  light  and 
do  as  I  do." 

I  did  as  I  was  bid,  and  as  our  flashlights  penetrated 
the  darkness,  Zelda  again  appeared  and  advanced 
toward  us. 

"Stand,"  commanded  Douglas  and  he  flashed  his 
light  directly  in  her  eyes. 

She  obeyed,  and  after  an  instant's  pause  sang  with 
even  greater  sweetness  than  before  the  weird  song,  the 
while  her  eyes  rested  upon  Douglas  as  though  she 
would  devour  him  with  her  gaze. 

As  the  song  ended  and  before  we  shut  off  our  cur- 
rents, Douglas  motioned  the  girl  to  his  side. 

"Stand  there,"  he  said  pointing  to  a  spot  between 
us.  Then  to  me  in  English,  "If  she  attempts  to  move, 
hold  her  arm.  I  will  hold  the  other." 

But  we  had  no  occasion  to  hold  her,  for  as  the  lights 
went  out,  the  whole  place  was  flooded  with  bright  sun- 
shine, admitted  through  the  roof. 

In  the  sunlight,  the  character  of  the  room  in  which 
we  were  standing  was  revealed  —  and  a  poor  enough 
place  it  was.  It  was  simply  a  big  cellar,  dug  in  the 
hills  and  roofed  over.  In  the  roof,  at  even  intervals, 
were  huge  panes  of  tinted  glass,  through  which  the 
light  was  admitted  during  the  ceremonies.  At  other 
times  the  light  was  admitted  through  openings  in  the 
roof,  which  were  covered  with  shutters.  The  stairway, 
by  which  we  had  descended,  was  dug  into  one  corner 


136  DOUGLAS 

of  the  room  and  the  passageway  was  a  crooked  one, 
partitioned  off  by  a  wire  screen. 

It  was  all  very  simple,  but  very  mystifying.  It  had 
been  made,  as  Zelda  later  told  us,  by  a  stranger  who 
had  joined  the  band  many  years  before,  the  object 
being  to  protect  the  place  by  mystery,  rather  than 
force.  I  shall  always  believe  that  he  must  have  been 
a  stage  carpenter.  Any  way,  the  job  was  well  done. 

As  the  light  streamed  in  through  the  roof,  the  chief 
advanced  with  outstretched  hand. 

"The  brothers  are  welcome,"  he  said  in  the  ordinary 
Persian  dialect  which  I  could  understand.  "We  are 
glad  to  greet  them." 

"And  we  are  glad  to  greet  Ilderim,"  replied  Douglas. 
"We  have  come  far  to  meet  him.  His  fame  as  a 
leader  has  gone  abroad." 

The  man's  eyes  twinkled  craftily  as  he  replied. 

"My  brother  does  me  much  honor.  Ilderim  has 
visited  the  shore  of  the  great  sea  and  has  seen  the 
dazzling  light  that  shines  at  night  from  the  masts  of 
the  great  ships.  He  knows  the  light  as  he  knows  the 
lightning.  He  would  know  its  secret." 

"And  so  he  shall!  But  first,"  continued  Douglas, 
"we  must  see  the  other  singer." 

"The  other  singer,"  and  Ilderim's  eyes  opened  in 
real  surprise,  "There  is  no  other  singer." 

Douglas'  face  grew  stern  as  he  replied,  "Do  not  lie 
to  us,  Ilderim.  It  will  do  no  good.  There  is  another 
singer,  —  a  boy." 

"My  brother,"  exclaimed  Zelda,  who  up  to  this 
time  had  not  spoken,  and  although  she  uttered  but  two 
words,  the  sweetness  of  her  voice  was  as  AH  had  said. 


ZELDA  137 

Seeing  the  black  look  on  Douglas'  face  and  being 
startled  by  Zelda's  exclamation,  the  rest  of  the  com- 
pany pressed  forward,  whereupon  Ilderim  turned  upon 
them  fiercely,  exclaiming: 

"Begone!     Get  about  your  business!" 

Without  a  word  the  entire  band,  numbering  prob- 
ably four  score,  turned  and  filed  slowly  out  of  a  door 
which,!  afterwards  learned,  led  into  a  passage  through 
the  hills,  facing  the  plain  over  which  we  had  ridden  on 
the  previous  day. 

As  the  last  of  the  band  passed  out  of  hearing,  Ilderim 
took  a  step  nearer  Zelda,  exclaiming  in  a  threatening 
voice: 

"Why  did  you  not  tell  me  your  brother  was  also  a 
singer  of  the  sacred  song?" 

"You  never  asked  me,"  she  replied  defiantly. 

Ilderim  stamped  his  foot  with  rage  and  raised  his 
hand  as  though  to  strike  her,  but  Douglas  interposed, 
flashing  his  light  directly  in  Ilderim's  face  in  a  manner 
that  almost  blinded  him.  His  hand  dropped  to  his 
eyes,  and  his  manner  changed  to  one  of  positive  terror. 

"What  have  you  done  with  the  other  singer  ?"  again 
demanded  Douglas,  as  he  recognized  his  power  over 
the  man. 

"He  has  gone  away  on  a  mission,"  Ilderim  re- 
plied. 

"Then  send  for  him,"  commanded  Douglas,  "for 
not  until  he  returns  can  we  deliver  the  message.  In 
the  meantime,  this  singer  must  remain  where  we  can 
see  and  converse  with  her." 

"But,  my  brother,"  began  Ilderim. 

"There  must  be  no  but  if  you  would  learn  the  secret 


138  DOUGLAS 

of  the  dazzling  fire  —  if  you  would  also  be  able  to 
throw  a  shaft  of  light  across  the  desert  at  night." 

Ilderim  gazed  upon  him  bewildered. 

"Can  it  be?" 

"It  can;  and  who  then  would  be  able  to  withstand 
you  ?  Who  could  hide  from  your  piercing  eye  ?  No 
caravan  could  escape  you,  and  gold  would  flow  into 
your  hands  like  water." 

Ilderim's  crafty  eyes  searched  Douglas'  face,  but  the 
latter  had  nothing  to  conceal  along  this  line.  It  was 
an  undoubted  fact  that  with  a  searchlight,  Ilderim 
would  be  a  robber  without  a  peer. 

"The  other  singer  shall  be  found,"  he  said  at  length. 
"I  will  start  couriers  out  at  once.  In  the  meantime 
you  shall  be  my  guests  and  dwell  in  the  garden  of  joy. 
Remain  here  until  I  return.  Zelda  shall  bear  you 
company." 

For  some  minutes  after  Ilderim  left  we  said  nothing, 
thinking  his  departure  might  be  simply  a  trick  to  trap 
us  into  saying  or  doing  something  that  might  put  us 
more  completely  in  his  power;  but  seeing  no  indication 
of  it  we  finally  asked  Zelda  if  she  had  received  any 
recent  word  from  Ali. 

"None,"  she  replied,  "since  he  went  away  many 
moons  ago." 

"You  did  not  know,  then,  that  he  was  in  the  caravan 
which  was  attacked  yesterday?" 

"Zelda  did  not  know  that  one  was  attacked.  Zelda 
was  busy  in  the  temple." 

"Are  you  always  busy  in  the  temple?"  asked 
Douglas. 

"Nearly  always." 


ZELDA  139 

"What  do  you  do?" 

"Zelda  keeps  the  fire,  and  sings  the  sacred  song  of 
Ahura  Mazda." 

"Who  is  Ahura  Mazda?"  I  asked  Douglas.  "Do 
you  know  anything  about  this  fire  worship?" 

"Only  that  it  is  the  religion  taught  by  Zoroaster 
and  that  Ahura  Mazda  is  the  name  he  gives  the 
Creator,  which  he  believed  to  be  the  sun.  All  life,  as 
he  taught,  comes  from  the  sun.  Where  we  go  after 
life  is  extinct,  does  not  concern  the  fire  worshipper." 

"Of  course  the  altar  fire  is  only  the  symbol?" 

"Naturally.  You  heard  the  Persian  tale  of  how 
Hushing  brought  fire.  You  also  remember  that 
Prometheus  had  a  terrible  time  for  bringing  fire  to 
men.  In  all  ages,  fire  has  been  looked  upon  as  more 
or  less  of  a  divine  power.  I  hope,  now  that  we  have 
become  acquainted  with  these  fire  worshippers,  to 
learn  more  of  what  they  really  do  believe." 

"Perhaps  they  can  solve  the  great  mystery  for  you," 
I  laughed.  "Perhaps  they  will  tell  you  that  the  Mt. 
Pelee  eruption  was  simply  the  vengeance  of  fire  for  the 
wickedness  of  the  dwellers  beside  the  volcano." 

"Which  would  be  no  more  than  the  Bible  tells  about 
the  destruction  of  Sodom  and  Gomorrah."  Then 
after  a  pause:  "Honestly,  Warren,  is  it  any  wonder 
that  those  of  us  who  believe  the  Bible  are  afraid  to  die  ?" 

"I  can't  say  that  it  is?" 

Douglas  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"There  you  go  again.  For  heaven's  sake  say  yes 
or  no." 

I  had  to  laugh,  myself,  and  Zelda,  seeing  our  humor, 
smiled. 


140  DOUGLAS 

I  have  seen  many  smiles,  but  never  one  like  hers,  and 
I  felt  to  myself  that  if  she  would  smile  on  me,  or  even 
at  me,  very  often,  it  would  not  be  long  until  I  should  be 
her  slave. 

As  I  now  look  back  after  these  years,  I  can  see  that 
on  my  part  it  was  a  case  of  love  at  first  sight.  It  was 
not  so  with  Zelda.  In  fact  I  am  sure  that  I  was  nothing 
to  her  and  that  'her  whole  thought  was  for  Douglas. 
Why,  I  do  not  know.  I  flatter  myself  that  I  am  quite 
as  good-looking  as  he,  and  I  certainly  had,  even  then, 
some  traits  that  were  better  than  his;  but  women  are 
strange  creatures.  However,  this  is  not  my  story.  It 
is  the  story  of  Douglas. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE   WEAKNESS   OF   SUPERSTITION 

THE  sun  was  sinking  slowly  behind  the  hills  as 
Douglas  and  I  sat  smoking  in  front  of  a  little  tent 
which  Ilderim  had  erected  for  us  in  the  shade  of  a  tree 
in  the  oasis,  which  we  now  recognized  as  the  garden 
of  the  Parsee  temple.  There  was  a  soft  footfall 
behind  us  and  Zelda  appeared  from  the  other  side  of 
the  tent  and  seated  herself  on  the  grass  beside  us. 

Of  all  the  native  women  it  was  my  chance  to  see 
in  Persia,  Zelda  was  the  only  one  I  ever  saw  without 
a  veil.  The  others  were  wrapped  and  swathed  like 
mummies,  with  a  veil  just  big  enough  to  peep  through 
tied  over  their  eyes.  Even  the  bargi  —  the  native 
woman  whom  Ilderim  assigned  to  wait  upon  Zelda, 
was  muffled  out  of  sight.  Veiling  is  not,  however,  a 
religious  demand,  as  some  think.  It  is  simply  a  decree 
of  fashion,  whose  devotees  outnumber  ten  to  one  the 
worshippers  at  any  other  shrine. 

In  so  far  as  Zelda  is  concerned,  I  am  inclined  to 
think  that  when  she  was  first  captured,  her  veil  was 
taken  from  her  as  a  mark  of  servitude.  By  the  time 
she  had  become  the  feature  of  the  fire  worship  and 
could  have  resumed  it  had  she  wanted  to,  she  had 
discovered  it  was  a  nuisance  and  discarded  it  alto- 
gether. Still,  it  may  have  been  her  native  vanity, 

141 


142  DOUGLAS 

for  I  have  learned  that  she  fully  realized  how  beautiful 
she  was. 

During  the  twenty-four  hours  we  had  known  her, 
we  had  been  able  to  tell  her  much  of  how  we  happened 
to  be  there  and  the  purpose  of  our  visit.  We  had  not, 
however,  told  her  that  we  were  not  the  great  priests 
that  she  thought  us  and  so  she  continued  to  look  upon 
us  as  far  above  ordinary  mortals.  At  least  she  did 
upon  Douglas.  I  am  not  sure  that  she  gave  me  a 
thought. 

Her  joy  at  receiving  word  from  Ali  was  great,  but 
not  so  great  as  I  had  expected  —  except  that  she 
seemed  overjoyed  at  the  prospect  of  escape.  She 
did,  however,  express  much  fear  for  the  safety  of  the 
lad;  but  we  had  assured  her  that  he  would  be  all 
right.  So  great  was  her  faith  in  us  that  she  appeared 
perfectly  satisfied. 

We  had  seen  Ilderim  but  once  since  our  first  meet- 
ing. That  was  on  the  following  morning,  when  he 
came  into  the  temple  where  we  had  spent  the  night, 
and  volunteered  to  show  us  a  good  spot  to  camp  and 
had  provided  us  a  small  tent.  He  had  said  little 
beyond  the  statement  that  couriers  had  been  sent  to 
scour  the  country  for  Ali  and  that  he  was  sure  he 
would  soon  be  found. 

Zelda  had  followed  us  and  watched  our  movements 
from  the  shade  of  an  apricot  tree  while  we  pitched  our 
camp.  Two  or  three  times  since,  she  had  approached 
and  spoken  a  few  words,  after  which  she  would  sit 
and  quietly  watch  us.  Thus  it  was  that  we  were  not 
surprised  to  see  her  now. 

"Do  you  think  it  would  do  to  ask  her  any  questions 


THE  WEAKNESS  OF  SUPERSTITION  143 

about  this  vale,"  I  remarked  to  Douglas,  as  she  sat 
there  with  her  eyes  alternately  upon  the  sky  and 
Douglas. 

"I  see  no  objections." 

"Why  do  they  call  this  the  Garden  of  Joy?"  I 
asked  in  the  best  Persian  I  could  muster. 

"That's  a  foolish  question,"  Douglas  declared, 
"Any  one  can  see  that.  The  thing  we  want  to  know 
is,  why  it  isn't  inhabited  and  cultivated." 

"Huh,"  I  ejaculated,  considerably  nettled.  "That's 
easy,  too.  Every  Persian  thinks  he  must  have  a 
garden,  but  none  of  them  want  to  work.  I'll  bet  this 
place  has  a  story.  You  ask  her  if  it  hasn't.  She'll 
answer  you,  but  she  seems  afraid  of  me." 

He  did,  and  in  a  musical  voice  she  told  the  following 
tale  —  a  tale  which  I  think  is  told,  or  at  least  a 
similar  one,  by  Sa'di,  the  Persian  bard,  in  his  Gulistan, 
or  Rose  Garden: 

"In  the  days  when  the  world  was  young  and  love 
was  all,  this  great  desert  was  a  sea  and  this  vale  and 
all  the  mountains  surrounding  it  were  a  beautiful 
island  ruled  by  a  lovely  princess.  So  fair  was  she, 
that  all  who  saw  her  must  fall  in  love  with  her,  and 
so  it  happened  that  a  poor  singer  —  a  singer  like  me  — 
saw  and  fell  in  love  with  the  lovely  princess. 

"Under  the  law,  no  one  but  a  prince  of  noble  blood 
could  wed  the  princess,  so  the  poor  singer  knew  that 
his  love  was  hopeless — "  and  Zelda  heaved  a  deep 
sigh.  "Indeed,  it  was  forbidden  that  one  of  humble 
birth  should  even  dare  love  a  princess,  and  so  his 
family  and  friends  besought  him  to  lay  aside  his  folly 
and  seek  love  and  happiness  elsewhere;  but  he  would 


144  DOUGLAS 

not.  Then,  in  an  effort  to  save  him,  they  had  word 
sent  to  the  princess  that  the  youth  was  insane  and  not 
responsible  for  his  actions. 

"The  princess,  however,  at  once  guessed  the  cause 
of  his  insanity  and  although  she  had  many  suitors, 
became  possessed  with  a  desire  to  meet  him.  There- 
fore, when  he  was  pointed  out  to  her  one  day,  sitting 
in  this  grove,  she  rode  her  horse  toward  him  and 
addressed  him. 

"Seeing  her  approach  he  was  stricken  dumb  with 
joy  and  was  unable  to  reply.  Then  she  spoke  to  him 
again  saying,  'I,  too,  am  a  singer.  Why  do  you  not 
speak  to  me?' 

"With  such  encouragement  the  youth  found  his 
tongue  sufficiently  to  say:  'With  thee  present  it  is 
not  strange  that  I  am  unable  to  speak,  but  that  I  am 
able  even  to  remain  alive.'  Then,  casting  upon  her 
one  look  of  love  and  tenderness,  he  fell  dead  at  her 
feet  from  very  joy. 

"Ever  since  that  time  this  vale  has  been  called 
the  Garden  of  Joy;  but  because  of  the  sad  fate  of  the 
hapless  youth  no  one  has  ever  cared  to  dwell  herein. 
When  the  sea  dried  up  and  the  mountains  were  no 
longer  clothed  with  green,  this  spot  remained  fresh 
and  fair  like  the  love  of  the  young  singer,  which  died 
not  nor  withered,  although  it  was  so  great  that  it 
consumed  him  like  a  purifying  fire.  Such  is  true 
love.  It  must  e'en  consume  those  upon  whom  it 
seizes,"  and  again  Zelda  sighed. 

"That's  a  very  pretty  tale,"  Douglas  exclaimed, 
"but  it  cannot  be  true,  because  joy  and  love  do  not 
kill.  It  is  only  grief  and  fear  that  kill — especially  fear." 


THE  WEAKNESS  OF  SUPERSTITION  145 

"Fear  of  what?"  I  asked. 

"Fear  of  everything.  I  thought  I'd  made  that 
point  plain  to  you  long  ago.  Fear,  not  of  the  thing 
itself,  perhaps,  but  of  the  uncertain  result  of  every 
act  and  condition  from  the  day  you  are  old  enough 
to  sense  your  existence.  It  is  fear  that  kills,  Zelda," 
addressing  her  for  the  first  time. 

She  drew  nearer  and  looked  earnestly  into  his  face. 
"Yes,"  she  exclaimed  after  a  minute,  "but  love  begets 
fear  —  fear  for  the  loved  one;  fear  about  the  loved 
one;  fear,"  and  she  shivered  with  a  sudden  chill, 
"of  losing  the  loved  one." 

"By  George,  the  girl  is  right,"!  exclaimed.  "Love 
does  beget  fear.  I  hadn't  thought  of  that  before." 

"Then  think  of  it  again,"  replied  Douglas  with  a 
touch  of  fierceness,  "and  you'll  see  it  isn't  so,  any 
more  than  that  good  begets  evil,  and  light  begets 
darkness." 

I  did  think  of  it  again  and  the  more  I  thought,  the 
more  convinced  I  became  that  Douglas  was  right. 

"But  how  do  you  explain  it?"  I  asked.  "It's  plain 
to  see  what  the  girl  means,  and  still  you  seem  right, 
too.  How  do  you  explain  it  ?  " 

"I  don't  explain  it.  I  simply  feel  it,  that's  all. 
Not  being  able  to  explain  it,  I  still  fear.  It  is  not 
love  we  fear  any  more  than  it  is  light.  It  is  dark- 
ness.'* 

"But  light  does  beget  darkness,"  said  Zelda 
timidly. 

"How?"  I  asked. 

"By  going  away?"  she  replied. 

Douglas  laughed.     "That's  philosophy  for  you," 


146  DOUGLAS 

he  exclaimed.  "And  by  the  same  reasoning  love 
creates  fear  by  going  away?" 

"Yes,"  and  the  girl  clasped  her  hands  to  her  breast. 

"Don't  you  ever  believe  it,  little  girl,"  replied 
Douglas  tenderly,  "because  when  love  goes  away  the 
fear  will  cease  and  in  its  place  will  come  anger  — 

"And  despair,"  she  interrupted. 

"This  is  a  nice  sensible  conversation  for  two  men 
and  a  girl,"  I  laughed. 

"Especially  when  none  of  us  knows  anything  about 
it,"  replied  Douglas.  "I  wish  that  rascal  cf  a  Hassim 
Kahn  had  left  me  a  donkey  whose  pack  contained  a 
few  bottles  of  cognac.  That's  the  best  remedy  for 
the  blues  that  I  know  of." 

"You  are  more  inconsistent  than  the  girl,"  I 
declared  with  a  little  sense  of  anger. 

"How's  that,"  and  Douglas  regarded  me  with  mild 
surprise. 

"You  want  to  use  evil  to  cure  evil." 

"Similia  similibus  curantur,"  quoth  Douglas  with 
a  laugh. 

"I'd  rather  be  blue  than  drunk,"  I  retorted. 

"That's  because  you've  never  been  blue,"  he 
laughed. 

"I  thought  you  were  going  to  say  because  I  had 
never  been  drunk." 

"Have  you?" 

"Enough  so  that  I  never  want  to  go  through  the 
experience  again." 

"Well,"  declared  Douglas  as  he  arose,  and  stretched 
himself,  "if  we  haven't  cognac  there  must  be  plenty 
of  wine  about  somewhere.  The  Parsee  is  a  wine 


THE  WEAKNESS  OF  SUPERSTITION  147 

drinker,  the  Moslem  is  not."  To  Zelda:  "Has 
Ilderim  any  wine  ?" 

"Oh,  yes." 

"Could  I  have  some?" 

Zelda  arose  from  her  place  on  the  grass  and  fairly 
bounded  away,  calling  back  as  she  ran,  "Zelda  will 
bring  some." 

"There  is  a  willing  slave,"  I  remarked.  "What  is 
there  about  you  she  should  fall  in  love  with  — " 

"Any  more  than  about  you?"  interrupted  Douglas 
with  a  laugh. 

"Well,  yes,  if  you  want  to  finish  it  that  way.  How- 
ever, that  is  not  what  I  was  about  to  say." 

"If  I  were  not  so  modest  I  might  say  it  is  my 
winning  way,"  he  laughed  again.  "Being  modest, 
however,  I  shall  be  compelled  to  say  that  you  are 
mistaken  about  her  being  in  love  at  all.  She  is 
simply  the  victim  of  religious  sentiment." 

"Bosh!  She  fell  in  love  with  you  the  minute  she 
laid  eyes  on  you  and  if  you  had  the  least  appreciation 
of  the  beautiful, you  would  be  just  as  far  gone  as  she  is.'* 

"Are  you?" 

"Well,  yes,  if  you  want  to  know.  She's  the  most 
beautiful  thing  I  ever  saw.  But,"  and  I  shrugged  my 
shoulders,  "  'what  care  I  how  fair  she  be,  so  she  be 
not  fair  for  me.' " 

"  Sensible  man,"  laughed  Douglas.  "  But,  honestly, 
I  am  afraid  to  fall  in  love  with  any  woman." 

"Why?" 

"Because  of  the  uncertainty.  Next  to  the  state 
beyond  the  grave,  I  consider  marriage  the  most 
uncertain." 


148  DOUGLAS 

"At  least,"  I  replied,  "love  would  be  a  far  better 
form  of  intoxication  than  wine.  But  there  comes 
Zelda  with  a  jar.  If  you  have  a  mind,  you  may 
indulge  in  both,"  and  plunging  my  hands  into  my 
pockets  I  strode  away  in  a  most  uncomfortable  frame 
of  mind. 

A  large  cherry  tree,  under  which  we  had  piled  our 
accoutrements,  spread  its  branches  invitingly  some 
distance  away.  Under  this  I  threw  myself  and 
watched  the  moon  gradually  grow  brighter  and 
brighter  as  the  darkness  fell.  Through  the  silence  of 
the  gathering  twilight  I  could  hear  the  murmur  of 
voices  as  Zelda  and  Douglas  conversed  in  the  liquid 
language  of  Iran  and  I  must  confess  that  my  thoughts 
were  anything  but  pleasant.  A  few  minutes  later 
the  voices  ceased  and  I  caught  the  sound  of  a  little 
sigh  and  a  sob. 

I  could  remain  quiet  no  longer. 

"It's  a  shame,"  I  thought,  "that  the  poor  girl  should 
waste  her  affections  on  a  man  who  does  not  give  her  a 
single  thought  above  what  he  would  give  any  woman 
he  might  chance  to  meet.  Better  for  her  an  hundred- 
fold that  she  be  left  to  the  life  she  is  leading. 
Every  hour  she  lingers  in  his  presence  and  every 
kindly  act  he  may  do  in  carrying  out  his  promise  to 
her  brother  will  but  increase  her  passion.  I'll  break 
up  the  tete-a-tete,"  and  I  started  toward  the  tent. 

As  I  was  about  to  emerge  from  the  shadow  of  the 
tree  under  which  I  had  been  reclining,  my  ear  caught 
the  sound  of  the  now  familiar  sacred  song,  in  a  voice 
which  I  immediately  recognized  as  Ali's.  Raising  my 
eyes  to  the  hill  that  rose  abruptly  back  of  our  tent, 


THE  WEAKNESS  OF  SUPERSTITION  149 

I  caught  sight  of  the  figure  of  the  lad  silhouetted  against 
the  sky  in  the  moonlight.  He  was  standing  motion- 
less, with  his  body  bent  forward  in  a  listening  attitude. 

The  others  must  have  heard  his  voice  at  the  same 
time,  for  as  I  stepped  forward,  he  was  answered  by 
Zelda,  whom  I  could  see  standing  at  the  side  of  the 
tent,  looking  upward. 

As  he  caught  the  sound  of  the  answering  note,  All 
took  a  step  forward  and  peered  down  into  the  vale. 
He  must  have  seen  the  tent  and  figures  beside  it,  for 
he  hastily  started  forward  as  though  to  descend,  when 
there  was  a  shot  and  the  boy  pitched  forward,  the 
momentum  causing  his  body  to  roll  part  way  down 
the  hillside. 

Halted  by  the  song  and  Zelda's  answer,  I  was  still 
within  the  shadow  when  the  shot  was  fired;  but  upon 
seeing  AH  fall  I  sprang  forward  and  started  on  a  run 
toward  the  tent.  At  the  same  instant  I  saw  Zelda 
start  up  the  hillside,  but  she  was  caught  and  flung 
back  by  Douglas,  who  rushed  forward,  picked  up 
the  inanimate  body  and  carried  it  quickly  to  the  tent. 

By  this  time  I  was  at  his  side. 

"Carry  him  to  the  shadow  of  the  cherry  tree,"  I 
commanded,  "and  do  it  quick." 

Without  a  word,  Douglas  obeyed,  Zelda  keeping 
close  to  his  side.  Entering  the  tent,  I  seized  our 
weapons  and  ammunition  belts  and  quickly  followed 
them. 

Once  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  tree  Douglas  laid 
Ali  on  the  grass  and  by  the  light  from  my  flashlight 
examined  his  wound.  The  shot  evidently  had  been 
fired  from  the  foot  of  the  hill  outside,  for  the  bullet 


150  DOUGLAS 

had  entered  just  under  the  right  shoulder  blade,  had 
deflected,  and  come  out  above  the  collar  bone  in  front. 
It  was  a  serious  but  not  necessarily  a  fatal  wound. 

The  main  thing  about  the  incident  was  that  we 
were  being  guarded  and  that  any  attempt  on  our 
part  to  leave  the  vale  would,  doubtless,  precipitate 
trouble. 

We  waited  several  minutes  to  observe  whether  the 
sentry  would  attempt  to  ascertain  the  result  of  his 
shot;  but  seeing  no  one,  Zelda,  at  her  own  request, 
went  down  into  the  temple  and  soon  returned  with 
bandages  and  some  sort  of  lotion  which  she  poured 
into  the  wound,  and  bound  it  up  with  a  skill  that 
bespoke  her  desert  training. 

After  a  couple  of  hours,  finding  that  those  on  the 
outside  apparently  were  going  to  take  no  account  of 
the  shot,  we  carried  the  lad  back  into  the  tent  and 
sent  Zelda  away  for  the  night. 

"How  do  you  think  we're  going  to  get  out  of  this 
mess?"  I  asked  Douglas  after  we  had  smoked  our 
pipes  in  silence  for  some  minutes. 

"The  only  way  I  can  think  of  is  to  cut  and  run  for 
it,"  was  his  reply. 

"When?" 

"Tomorrow  night,  if  Ali  is  able  to  be  carried." 

"Then  you  are  going  to  try  and  carry  both  of  them 
away?" 

"Of  course." 

"And  get  shot  for  your  pains." 

"Do  you  know,"  replied  Douglas  meditatively, 
taking  a  few  puffs  at  his  pipe,  "I  seem  to  be  imbibing 
the  Mohammedan  belief  of  Kismet.  If  it  is  fate  that 


THE  WEAKNESS  OF  SUPERSTITION  151 

we  are  to  leave  our  bones  on  the  sands  of  Persia,  leave 
them  we  shall.  If  not,  why  there  is  no  use  of  worry- 
ing." 

"I've  been  trying  to  preach  that  to  you  for  the  last 
year!"  I  exclaimed. 

"And  besides,"  he  continued,  paying  no  attention 
to  my  interruption,  "I  couldn't  stand  it  to  remain  here 
inactive  long.  The  uncertainty  of  the  situation  gets 
on  my  nerves." 

"Well,"  I  replied,  "I  guess  you'll  have  enough  to 
occupy  your  mind  tomorrow." 

"How's  that." 

"I  expect  we  shall  receive  a  visit  from  Ilderim.  If 
he  doesn't  find  the  dead  body  of  Ali,  he'll  ask  some 
ugly  questions." 

For  some  moments  Douglas  made  no  reply.  Then 
he  said  slowly,  "That  suggestion  gives  me  an  idea. 
It  may  help  and  it  may  not.  We  must  cremate  Ali 
on  a  funeral  pyre.  Not  really,"  as  he  saw  my  look 
of  wonderment,  "but  we  must  appear  to." 

Then  he  unfolded  his  plan. 

As  a  result,  when  the  morning  dawned  we  already 
had  erected  a  great  heap  of  brush  and  wood  against 
the  dead  trunk  of  an  old  tree  which  stood  as  a  sentinel 
near  the  top  of  the  hill.  At  the  bottom  and  on  the 
eastern  side  we  put  a  quantity  of  dry  grass,  and  in  the 
midst  a  small  amount  of  powder,  which  we  dug  out 
of  our  Winchester  cartridges. 

To  provide  for  a  body,  we  had  taken  a  small 
decayed  log,  of  which  there  were  any  number  lying 
about,  and  wrapped  it  carefully  in  a  couple  of  shirts. 
On  top  we  placed  Ali's  fez  and  stood  it  up  beside 


152  DOUGLAS 

the  dead  tree  in  such  a  manner  that  it  would  fall 
forward  into  the  fire  as  soon  as  the  supporting  brush 
had  burned  a  little.  As  for  Ali,  who  seemed  right 
strong,  we  buried  him  in  our  tent  under  our  sad- 
dles. 

We  were  still  engaged  in  our  task  of  heaping  up  the 
wood  and  brush  when  Ilderim  came  up  the  stairs. 

Seeing  us  thus  engaged  he  came  forward,  but  we 
waved  him  back. 

"Stand  there,  Ilderim,"  commanded  Douglas, 
"until  we  purify  this  place  of  the  blood  that  has  been 
shed  herein." 

Without  a  word  he  obeyed  and  stood  silently  while 
we  finished  our  work. 

Then  I  drew  back  a  little  way  and  fell  on  my  knees, 
while  Douglas,  taking  his  eye-glasses  from  his  nose, 
knelt  beside  the  pyre  with  arms  uplifted.  For  several 
minutes  he  remained  thus,  until  he  could  focus  his 
glass  upon  the  little  spot  of  powder  in  the  midst  of 
the  dry  grass.  Then  suddenly,  as  though  sent  from 
heaven,  the  fire  appeared  and  the  flames  rapidly 
spread  to  the  brush. 

As  the  fire  leaped  and  crackled,  Douglas  began  to 
sing  the  sacred  song  that  seemed  such  a  part  of  the 
fire  worshipper's  service  and  bowed  himself  to  the 
earth,  while  I  continued  to  stand  with  hands  upraised 
until  the  shirt-wrapped  log  fell  forward  into  the  fire, 
when  I,  too,  began  to  sing. 

Had  it  not  been  for  the  seriousness  of  our  situation, 
I  should  have  laughed  aloud.  I  managed,  however, 
to  carry  out  my  part  of  the  program  and  so  we  knelt 
until  the  entire  pyre  had  been  consumed.  Then  we 


THE  WEAKNESS  OF  SUPERSTITION  153 

arose  and  approached  Ilderim,  who  had  stood  all  the 
time  eyeing  us  craftily. 

"What  is  it  you  have  done?"  he  asked  as  we  came 
near. 

"We  have  destroyed  the  unclean  thing,"  replied 
Douglas.  "Tonight  when  the  sun  has  set  we  shall 
finish  our  work.  Till  then  we  must  be  left  alone. 
But  listen  and  obey,  if  you  would  not  lose  the  gift 
which  we  have  come  to  bring.  As  daylight  fades, 
send  hither  Zelda,  the  singer.  Do  you,  if  you  wish  to 
witness  the  complete  destruction  of  yon  charred  body, 
be  at  the  head  of  the  temple  stairs  as  darkness  falls 
and  let  the  people  be  gathered  in  the  temple  be- 
neath." 

With  a  deep  bow  the  chief  withdrew  without  speak- 
ing a  word. 

"I  don't  think  he  believes  a  word  of  what  you  have 
said,"  I  declared  when  Ilderim  was  out  of  earshot. 

"And  I  don't  care  whether  he  does,  if  he'll  let  us 
alone  till  after  dark.  Then  I'll  show  him  a  real 
Sherlock  Holmes  trick." 

The  remainder  of  the  day  was  spent  in  perfecting 
our  plans.  When  we  watered  our  horses  that  after- 
noon, we  left  them  in  the  shade  nearest  the  exit  from 
the  vale.  As  soon  as  the  first  twilight  appeared,  I 
wrapped  AH  in  a  blanket  and  carried  him  out  of  the 
rear  of  the  tent  and  placed  him  under  the  same  tree. 
Then  we  took  our  stand  beside  the  still  smouldering 
stump.  The  moon  would  not  rise  for  an  hour  and 
by  that  time  we  hoped  to  be  miles  away. 

A  few  minutes  later,  Zelda  appeared.  We  called 
her  to  our  side  and  bade  her  sing.  Shortly  after,  we 


154  DOUGLAS 

could  perceive,  through  the  gathering  darkness,  that 
Ilderim  was  at  his  post. 

As  Zelda's  song  died  away,  we  flashed  our  electric 
lights.  By  the  light  of  one,  we  bound  a  string  tightly 
about  the  press  button  of  the  other,  so  that  they 
would  continue  to  shine.  Next  we  fastened  them  to 
the  charred  log  in  such  a  manner  that  the  two  brilliant 
lights  shone  straight  into  Ilderim's  eyes,  after  which 
we  glided  stealthily  to  where  our  horses  were  standing. 

Being  the  larger  and  stronger,  I  had  volunteered  to 
carry  AH.  Douglas  raised  him  to  my  arms  and  then 
quickly  mounting  his  own  horse,  with  Zelda  clinging 
on  behind,  he  led  the  way  silently  out  of  the  Garden 
of  Joy,  the  soft  turf  and  sand  giving  forth  no  sound 
to  betray  our  departure. 

Looking  backward,  as  we  turned  the  winding  path, 
I  could  see  Ilderim  in  the  glare  of  the  electric  lights, 
standing  motionless  at  the  entrance  to  the  temple. 

"Chained  by  superstition,"  I  muttered;  while 
Douglas,  as  he  topped  the  hill,  called  back  in  a  low 
voice : 

"And  now  to  run  for  it." 

Putting  spurs  to  our  horses  we  sped  away  in  the 
darkness. 


CHAPTER  XII 

A   DAUGHTER  OP  THE   DESERT 

FOR  nearly  an  hour  after  leaving  the  oasis  we  rode 
silently  and  rapidly  forward,  following  as  nearly  as  we 
were  able  the  direction  we  supposed  our  caravan  had 
taken.  Beyond  this,  neither  Douglas  nor  I  had  the 
slightest  knowledge.  There  was  no  highway,  only  a 
trackless  desert,  of  whose  very  extent  we  were  almost 
totally  ignorant,  although  in  a  general  way  we  knew  it 
was  some  eighty  miles  to  Yezd.  We  were  not  so 
foolish,  however,  as  to  suppose  we  could  make  that 
distance,  burdened  as  we  were,  without  food  and  water 
for  ourselves  and  horses,  especially  water.  The  best 
we  could  do  was  to  cover  as  much  ground  as  possible 
before  we  were  obliged  to  halt. 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  the  moon  arose,  and  as  it 
gradually  illumined  the  desert  we  were  able  to  get 
some  idea  of  the  plain  over  which  we  were  riding.  It 
was  undulating  and  considerably  broken,  and  as  far  as 
we  could  see  absolutely  uninhabited.  In  the  yellow 
and  illusive  light,  no  outlook  could  have  been  more 
desolate. 

"Talk  about  your  uncertainties,"  I  remarked  to 
Douglas  as  we  drew  our  horses  down  to  a  walk  after  a 
gallop  of  several  miles;  "this  is  the  limit.  We  neither 

155 


156  DOUGLAS 

know  where  we  are  nor  whither  we  are  going.  If  you 
can  stand  this,  you  can  stand  anything." 

Douglas  laughed.  "This  is  no  uncertainty,"  he 
replied,"  "We  know  we  are  in  a  mess  and  we  are  try- 
ing to  get  out  of  it.  The  uncertainty  vanished  the 
minute  we  left  the  Garden  of  Joy.  How  is  AH?" 

"Holding  his  own.  But  I  do  not  know  how  much 
longer  I  shall  be  able  to  support  him." 

"Suppose  we  stop  and  change.  The  girl  sits  so 
lightly  that  at  times  I  almost  forget  her." 

Under  similar  circumstances  I  doubt  if  there  is 
another  man  in  the  world  who  could  have  honestly 
made  such  a  statement  —  yet  such  was  Douglas.  I 
was  perfectly  willing  to  make  the  change  and  Douglas 
dismounted  to  relieve  me  of  my  burden ;  but  even  as  he 
attempted  to  lift  the  body  from  the  saddle,  the  boy 
swooned.  Tenderly  Douglas  laid  him  on  the  sand, 
while  Zelda  rolled  up  the  shawl  she  wore,  and  laid  it 
under  his  head. 

A  few  swallows  from  our  thermo  bottle  soon  restored 
him  to  consciousness,  but  he  evidently  was  tired  out 
and  unable  to  ride  farther. 

"This  is  unexpected,"  declared  Douglas.  "I 
thought  surely  with  his  constitution,  he  would  be  able 
to  go  farther  than  this.  I  don't  know  what  to  do." 

I  could  offer  no  suggestion  and  so  we  stood  silently 
for  several  moments. 

"Poor  little  chap,"  said  Douglas,  as  he  looked  down 
compassionately  upon  him.  "It  would  have  been 
better  for  him  had  he  gone  with  the  rest  of  the 
tribe." 

AH  must  have  caught  something  of  the  thought  from 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DESERT       157 

Douglas'  tone,  for  looking  up,  he  murmured  faintly: 

"Think  no  more  of  Ali,  Sahib,  He  has  caused  you 
trouble  enough.  Leave  him  to  his  fate." 

"Not  on  your  life,"  declared  Douglas  emphatically. 
"  We  are  four  chums  and  we  will  sink  or  swim  together. 
Eh,  Warren?" 

"To  the  end,"  I  declared.  "We'll  find  a  way  out; 
never  fear." 

Something  in  the  tone  of  my  voice  rather  than  what 
I  said  must  have  aroused  Zelda,  for  she  gave  me  a 
look  out  of  those  wondrous  eyes  —  the  first  she  had 
deigned  to  bestow  upon  me  —  that  filled  me  with  a 
determination  to  get  her  and  her  brother  out  of  their 
trouble,  or  to  go  the  limit. 

There  must  have  been  that  in  my  eyes  which  reflected 
my  thoughts,  for  suddenly  the  girl  seemed  to  have 
been  touched  by  the  same  spirit.  Her  form  straight- 
ened and  there  came  into  her  face  an  expression  that 
I  had  not  before  encountered.  Absorbed  in  her  as  I 
was,  the  change,  to  me,  seemed  to  come  as  a  great  wave 
of  courage  and  in  a  moment  the  helpless  fugitive  be- 
came the  Emir's  daughter.  Her  hour  of  freedom  had 
brought  back  all  that  goes  with  a  nomad  life  and  look- 
ing at  me,  rather  than  Douglas,  she  exclaimed: 

"Sahib,  let  Zelda  speak !  She  is  a  child  of  the  desert 
and  she  knows  its  every  mood.  The  strangers  from 
across  the  sea  are  wise.  They  bring  the  fire  from  the 
air;  but  they  know  not  the  voices  of  the  desert  which 
speak  to  Zelda  in  every  passing  breeze  and  in  every 
grain  of  sparkling  sand.  Its  spell  is  upon  her  now. 
She  feels  its  voices  calling.  'Away!  Away!  Over 
there,'  she  hears  them  say,  'is  safety!'  If  the  strangers 


158  DOUGLAS 

will  trust  Zelda  she  will  bring  them  to  it.  Will  they 
doit?" 

"Will  we  do  it  ?"  I  exclaimed.  "We  will  trust  the 
daughter  of  the  great  Emir  with  our  lives." 

"What  would  you  have  us  do?"  queried  Douglas. 

"Give  Zelda  the  strongest  charger  and  she  will  ride. 
Her  weight  upon  his  back  is  like  a  thistledown. 
Something  she  will  find.  Before  the  moon  has  passed 
the  center  of  the  sky  she  will  return." 

Douglas  looked  at  the  girl  and  then  at  me.  "Is  it 
wise,  do  you  think?"  he  asked. 

Zelda's  eyes  flashed.     "Is  the  Sahib  afraid?" 

"Only  that  you  will  get  into  trouble,"  I  replied. 

Her  attitude  changed  and  her  voice  became  almost 
tender.  "When  Zelda  was  in  trouble  you  did  not 
fear.  Now  it  is  Zelda's  turn.  But  there  is  no  danger." 

"You  are  sure,"  and  I  regarded  her  earnestly. 

"Zelda fears  naught  but  treachery,  and  the  desert  is 
the  Arabian  girl's  friend." 

"May  it  prove  so  tonight,"  I  said  fervently. 

"Yes,"  said  Douglas,  "and  may  God  help  you. 
No  one  else  can." 

Without  more  words  she  stepped  around  to  where  the 
horses  were  sniffing  at  the  sand.  With  the  adroitness 
of  a  fancier  she  ran  her  hand  over  their  chests  and 
loins,  and  listened  to  their  breathing.  Then  she 
loosed  the  girth  on  the  horse  I  had  ridden  and  threw 
the  saddle  to  the  ground. 

The  animal,  and  he  was  a  fine  specimen,  seemed  to 
sense  what  she  was  about  to  do.  He  turned  his  head 
and  gave  a  gentle  little  neigh.  She  put  her  arm  about 
his  neck  and  for  as  much  as  half  a  minute  laid  her 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DESERT       159 

cheek  against  his  head,  seemingly  talking  to  him. 
Then  she  turned  hastily  and  placing  one  hand  on  the 
animal's  back  and  with  the  other  grasping  his  mane, 
she  stood  looking  over  her  shoulder,  with  one  foot 
raised  for  a  lift. 

It  was  a  picture  I  shall  never  forget  should  I  live  to 
be  a  thousand  years  old. 

Her  lips  parted  in  a  smile  as  she  caught  my  look  of 
admiration  and  then,  with  a  little  imperious  nod  of  her 
head,  she  turned  her  face  to  the  horse  saying  sharply: 

"Ready." 

I  gave  her  a  hand  and  in  another  instant  she  was 
mounted  and  speeding  away  in  the  moonlight,  calling 
back  to  us,  as  she  flung  a  hasty  glance  over  her  shoul- 
der, to  make  the  other  horse  lie  down. 

For  several  minutes  she  continued  in  the  same  di- 
rection we  had  been  riding,  when  we  noted  that  she 
pulled  up  sharply  for  possibly  half  a  minute.  Then, 
putting  her  horse  to  a  gallop,  she  circled  away  to  the 
right  and  was  quickly  out  of  sight. 

"Her  advice  about  the  horse  is  good,"  remarked 
Douglas,  as  we  turned  our  eyes  back  from  where  she 
had  disappeared.  "I  expect  we  do  loom  up  pretty 
big  in  the  moonlight." 

Forcing  our  remaining  horse  to  his  knees,  we  pushed 
him  over  on  his  side  and  threw  ourselves  down  on  the 
sand  beside  him,  while  we  speculated  in  low  tones  as 
to  what  Zelda  might  have  in  mind.  We  would  have 
questioned  AH,  but  he  was  too  weak  to  permit  of  ques- 
tioning, and  so,  after  some  vain  surmises,  we  sat 
quietly  smoking,  the  silence  of  the  desert  broken  only 
by  the  spasmodic  breathing  of  the  Arabian  lad. 


160  DOUGLAS 

I  suppose  I  must  have  dozed  off  to  sleep,  for  when  - 
aroused  by  a  sharp  dig  in  the  ribs  by  Douglas  —  I 
opened  my  eyes,  the  moon  was  well  toward  the  zenith. 

"Look  yonder,"  said  my  companion  in  a  low  voice. 
"What  do  you  make  of  it  ?"  and  he  pointed  toward  the 
northern  horizon. 

I  raised  myself  on  my  elbow  and  gazed  steadfastly 
in  the  direction  indicated. 

"Looks  like  a  horseman,  to  me." 

"Do  you  think  it  can  be  Zelda,"  he  asked. 

I  strained  my  eyes,  but  the  rider  was  too  far  away  to 
tell  whether  it  was  a  man  or  a  woman. 

"What  do  you  think?"  I  finally  asked. 

"If  she  had  not  disappeared  in  the  opposite  direc- 
tion, I  should  say  it  was." 

"Well,  whoever  it  is,"  I  declared  after  watching  a 
minute,  "is  not  coming  this  way."  Then  my  eyes 
traveled  along  the  horizon:  "Hello!  There's  an- 
other," and  I  pointed  a  bit  further  south. 

"Right!"  exclaimed  Douglas,  "and  there  is  still 
another  at  its  left  —  and  another." 

Right  he  certainly  was,  and  inside  of  another  two 
minutes  half  a  dozen  figures  came  into  sight  strung 
out  along  the  sky  line. 

Then  it  flashed  upon  us  what  it  meant.  It  was 
Ilderim's  band  sweeping  the  desert  for  us.  Our  only 
chance  lay  in  keeping  out  of  sight,  which,  it  seemed, 
ought  to  be  reasonably  easy  unless  some  horseman 
rode  directly  over  us;  but  even  as  we  watched,  a  second 
line  of  riders  appeared,  placed  at  like  intervals,  but 
alternating  with  the  first. 

"It's  a  regular  drag-net,"  I  exclaimed. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DESERT       161 

"More  like  a  fine  tooth  comb,"  laughed  Douglas. 
"But  I'm  glad  to  see  them.  I  was  rapidly  developing 
a  fit  of  the  blues." 

"You  are  likely  to  develop  a  fit  of  an  entirely  differ- 
ent color  before  you  get  out  of  this,"  I  declared. 
"If  you  are  really  as  much  afraid  of  the  hereafter  as 
you  say  you  are,  you  ought  to  be  in  a  complete 
collapse  about  now." 

"You're  a  nice  cheerful  chum,  aren't  you?"  he 
replied,  and  there  was  that  in  his  voice  which  made 
me  wish  I  had  not  spoken.  "However,  if  the  end 
comes  it  will  probably  come  in  the  midst  of  consider- 
able excitement,  and  maybe  we  won't  mind." 

"I'm  perfectly  willing  to  delay  it  as  long  as  possible," 
I  retorted.  "What  do  you  think  is  the  best  thing 
to  do?" 

"Keep  perfectly  quiet."  Then  after  a  moment. 
"I  wish  that  moon  would  go  under  a  cloud." 

By  this  time  the  horsemen  were  drawing  so  near  that 
we  could  estimate  their  number.  We  could  count 
twenty  of  them  strung  out  over  the  desert,  all  of  them 
north  of  us  but  two.  From  the  manner  of  their  riding 
we  judged  there  might  be  a  dozen  more.  With  only 
two  on  our  direct  course,  there  was  still  a  good  chance 
that  we  would  be  overlooked,  when  suddenly  our 
horse,  which  I  at  least  had  forgotten,  scrambled  to  his 
feet  and  uttered  a  shrill  neigh. 

If  a  bugle  had  sounded,  the  horsemen  could  not 
have  come  to  a  more  sudden  halt.  Then,  from  near  the 
center  of  the  line,  a  solitary  horseman  dashed  forth  and 
inside  of  another  two  minutes  the  entire  band  was 
circling  about  our  resting  place  like  a  band  of  Apaches. 


162  DOUGLAS 

I  pulled  my  Winchester  up  beside  me  and  made  up 
my  mind  to  sell  my  life  as  dearly  as  possible.  In  fact, 
I  was  just  taking  aim  at  the  one  who  seemed  to  me  to 
be  Ilderim,  when  Douglas  laid  his  hand  on  my  arm. 

"Do  it  only  as  a  last  resort,"  he  said.  "As  long 
as  they  keep  on  circling,  let  'em  circle." 

"But  the  circle  keeps  getting  smaller,"  I  replied. 
"Unless  we  warn  them  away,  they  will  close  in  on  us 
before  we  know  it." 

My  prediction  was  quickly  proven  true.  The  circle 
became  smaller  and  smaller,  and  I  was  again  on  the 
point  of  firing,  when  there  came  a  flash,  a  bullet  sang 
over  our  heads  and  with  a  snort  of  pain,  our  horse 
sprang  forward  and  dashed  away  across  the  plain. 
At  the  same  instant,  the  horsemen  drew  rapidly  away, 
although  they  never  stopped  circling. 

"They  evidently  don't  intend  we  shall  escape,"  I 
remarked. 

"No,  I  have  thought  all  the  time  that  what  they 
wanted  was  to  capture  us." 

Then  to  AH  who  rose  to  a  sitting  posture,  "What  is 
the  matter?" 

"I  thought  I  heard  a  shot." 

"You  must  have  dreamed  it.  Here,"  holding  the 
thermo  bottle  to  the  lad's  lips,  "Have  a  drink  and  go 
back  to  sleep.  You'll  need  all  your  strength  for  a 
long  ride  in  the  morning." 

"You  are  sure  there  was  no  shot  ?"  insisted  the  boy 
as  he  pushed  the  bottle  away.  "Where's  Zelda?" 

"She's  all  right  and  there  isn't  any  one  writhin 
miles  — " 

The  balance  of  the  speech  was  lost  in  the  rattle  of  a 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DESERT       163 

musketry  fire,  so  evenly  timed  as  almost  to  amount  to 
a  volley. 

We  sprang  to  our  feet  with  a  shout  of  joy,  just  as  a 
second  volley  was  fired. 

Warned  of  our  danger  by  the  whistling  bullets,  we 
again  threw  ourselves  to  the  ground  as  our  enemies, 
after  one  return  of  the  fire,  turned  to  flee  from  the 
oncoming  force. 

There  were  probably  a  dozen  of  our  enemies  between 
us  and  the  rescuers.  These  dashed  directly  toward 
us  with  the  evident  intention  of  riding  us  down.  Un- 
consciously I  buried  my  face  in  the  ground,  noting  as  I 
closed  my  eyes  that  Douglas  had  thrown  himself 
down  in  such  a  manner  as  to  protect  Ali.  Before  I 
could  have  counted  ten,  the  riders  were  upon  us.  I 
felt  the  sand  thrown  over  me  by  the  horses'  hoofs,  but 
not  one  of  them  touched  me  and  in  less  time  than  I  can 
tell  it,  the  flying  horsemen  had  passed. 

"Saved,"  I  cried,  springing  to  my  feet,  just  as  our 
rescuers  dashed  up,  and  Zelda  flung  herself  from  her 
horse 

"Where  are  the  strangers  ?"  asked  the  leader  of  the 
band,  an  aged  Kahn  with  a  flowing  gray  beard,  as  he 
stopped  a  few  feet  away. 

"Here,"  I  replied,  stepping  forward. 

"I  thought  there  were  two,"  he  exclaimed  as  he 
gave  me  the  desert  salute. 

"So  there  are,"  I  made  reply,  and  I  looked  around 
for  Douglas,  who  I  supposed  was  right  behind  me. 
"Here—" 

A  scream  from  Zelda  interrupted  me  and  I  cast 
my  eyes  to  the  ground  where  she  had  thrown  her- 


164  DOUGLAS 

self  on  her  knees  beside  an  apparently  lifeless  figure. 

I  caught  my  breath  and  my  heart  almost  stood  still. 

"Has  he  at  last  gone  to  meet  that  God  whom  he  so 
greatly  feared  ?"  I  thought. 

I  kneeled  quickly  at  his  side  and  placed  my  hand  on 
his  heart.  It  was  beating,  though  feebly. 

"Where  is  he  hurt?"  asked  the  Kahn  leaping  from 
his  horse  and  bending  over  us. 

"I  can  find  no  blood,"  replied  Zelda. 

How  I  wished  for  one  of  those  flashlights  we  had 
left  in  the  Garden  of  Joy. 

The  girl  gently  took  his  head  on  her  lap  and  as  she 
turned  the  side  of  his  face  toward  the  moonlight,  I 
noted  an  abrasion  just  above  his  temple,  which  was 
rapidly  turning  black.  We  examined  it  more  closely 
and  after  a  minute  discovered  that  it  must  have  been 
made  by  the  hoof  of  one  of  the  flying  steeds. 

"It  is  my  fault,"  said  AH  feebly,  hearing  what  we 
were  saying.  "He  was  trying  to  cover  me  and  didn't 
hug  the  sand." 

"What  shall  we  do  ?"  I  asked  of  the  Kahn,  for  I  was 
absolutely  without  surgical  knowledge. 

The  old  man  shook  his  head. 

"I  have  at  home  a  lotion,"  he  said;  "but  that  is 
five  leagues  away.  We  might  bind  on  some  water 
if  we  had  any." 

I  produced  the  thermo  bottle  and  Zelda  tore  a  piece 
from  her  skirt  which  she  deftly  bound  about  his 
head  as  I  wet  it  with  the  water.  Once  as  I  turned  to 
speak  to  the  Kahn,  I  was  sure  I  saw  her  touch  his  brow 
with  her  lips. 

"How  long  before  he  should  come  to?"  I  asked. 


A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  DESERT      165 

"It  does  not  appear  so  serious,"  replied  the  Kahn. 
"I  see  no  reason  why  he  should  not  become  himself 
by  the  time  our  horses  are  rested. 

But  he  did  not.  Even  when  daylight  came  and  the 
company  was  ready  to  return  to  wherever  it  came  from, 
Douglas  was  still  unconscious,  although  seemingly  in 
no  pain.  His  breathing  was  regular,  he  had  no  fever, 
but  he  seemed  to  have  been  plunged  into  an  endless 
sleep. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

DARKNESS   BEFORE   THE    DAWN 

IT  was  a  week  later,  and  Zelda  and  I  were  sitting 
under  the  shade  of  a  pomegranate  tree  in  a  fairly  well 
kept  garden  belonging  to  a  house  on  the  outskirts  of 
Yezd,  which  had  been  secured  for  us  by  Hassim  Kahn. 
Next  to  us  was  a  porch,  onto  which  opened  two  win- 
dows. A  long  passageway  could  be  seen  between 
them,  leading  to  the  street,  while  through  the  windows 
were  seen  two  snowy  beds.  On  one  of  them  lay 
Douglas  and  on  the  other  was  Ali,  propped  up  with 
pilloAvs.  An  attendant  stood  beside  Douglas  waving 
a  long-handled  fan. 

We  had  arrived  in  Yezd  only  the  night  before.  A 
courier  dispatched  to  Yezd  by  Abdallah  Kahn  —  the 
leader  of  the  little  force  of  riders  who  had  rescued  us 
from  Ilderim's  band  —  had  notified  Hassim  of  our 
approach.  Having  discovered  that  he  had  made  a 
bad  blunder  in  deserting  us,  he  was  now  anxious  to  do 
everything  in  his  power  to  remedy  the  evil  he  had 
wrought.  He  had  secured  this  dwelling  and  had  at 
once  sent  to  meet  us  the  best  conveyance  obtainable, 
which  had  enabled  us  to  bring  Douglas  in  much  more 
comfortably. 

I  had  called  in  the  best  physician  in  Yezd,  a  man  of 
considerable  ability,  who  had  received  his  medical 

166 


DARKNESS  BEFORE  THE  DAWN      167 

education  in  Europe.  He  had  furnished  two  trained 
assistants  and  everything  possible  was  being  done  to 
restore  Douglas  to  consciousness,  but  so  far  in  vain. 
At  times,  however,  he  would  open  his  eyes  and  gaze 
at  those  about  him  with  a  look  that  was  pitiable. 

As  Zelda  and  I  sat  in  the  grateful  shade,  I  was  try- 
ing to  explain  to  her  who  we  were  and  where  we  came 
from. 

It  was  the  first  chance  I  had  had  to  talk  with  her 
alone  since  Douglas  was  injured.  During  our  ride  in 
from  the  desert,  she  had  confined  herself  closely  to  Ali, 
as  I  had  confined  myself  to  Douglas.  True,  she  had 
come  every  few  hours  to  enquire  about  him,  but  it  was 
not  until  we  had  reached  Yezd,  and  Hassim  had  pro- 
cured us  a  suitable  home  and  male  and  female  attend- 
ants, that  I  had  been  able  to  learn  from  her  own  lips 
the  story  of  her  night's  ride  and  how  she  had  been  able 
to  save  us. 

Her  explanation  had  not  been  very  clear,  and  I  am 
not  at  all  sure  she  had  any  definite  idea  what  she  was 
going  to  do  when  she  left  us  that  night.  In  a  general 
way  she  knew  there  were  small  bodies  of  rural  guards 
scattered  all  over  that  section  and  she  trusted  to  her 
intuition  and  her  desert  sense  to  locate  one  of  them. 

To  tell  the  truth,  I  was  not  greatly  interested  in  the 
matter  anyway.  It  was  enough  that  she  had  succeeded ; 
but  I  was  interested  in  Zelda. 

It  was  a  strenuous  ride  for  me  —  that  ride  to  Yezd, 
and  as  a  result,  when  I  at  last  had  seen  Douglas  and 
Ali  made  comfortable,  I  had  taken  a  bath,  put  on  some 
clean  linen,  thrown  myself  down  on  a  divan  I  found  on 
the  porch  outside  of  Douglas'  room,  and  gone  to  sleep. 


168  DOUGLAS 

I  do  not  believe  I  stirred  until  near  daylight, 
when  I  was  awakened  by  a  light  shining  in  my  eyes. 
As  I  slowly  came  to  myself,  I  heard  a  weird  singing 
and  for  a  moment  thought  I  was  still  in  the  Garden  of 
Joy.  As  I  became  more  wide  awake,  the  incidents  of 
the  past  few  days  flashed  through  my  mind  and  I 
sprang  to  my  feet,  only  to  discover  that  the  light  came 
from  a  fire,  which  was  burning  brightly  in  a  small 
brazier  a  few  yards  from  me,  and  that  the  figure  stand- 
ing over  it  was  Zelda.  She  was  singing  the  song  of  the 
fire  and  apparently  going  through  some  form  of 
worship. 

At  first  I  started  to  interfere,  but  upon  second 
thought,  I  decided  not  to,  and  quietly  laid  down  again, 
still  keeping  my  eyes  upon  her.  In  a  few  minutes  she 
finished  her  devotions  and  the  fire  having  burned 
down,  she  silently  withdrew. 

I  did  not  see  her  again  until  the  physician  called  the 
next  morning.  Then  she  stood  by  while  he  dressed 
Ali's  wound  and  left  some  medicine  for  Douglas.  Ali 
was  so  much  improved  that  the  doctor  predicted  he 
would  be  able  to  get  about  in  a  couple  of  days.  He 
made  no  predictions  about  Douglas. 

"Will  he  get  well?"  Zelda  asked  the  doctor  as  he 
was  leaving. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  think  so,"  and  then  to  me,  "but  I  must 
admit  that  the  case  puzzles  me.  There  is  apparently 
no  concussion  of  the  brain  and  I  cannot  account  for 
his  prolonged  unconsciousness." 

After  he  had  left,  Zelda  and  I  had  gone  into  the 
garden  where,  as  I  have  said,  she  told  me  about  her 
night  ride 


DARKNESS  BEFORE  THE  DAWN      169 

"And  what  were  you  doing  in  the  garden,  last 
night,"  I  asked. 

She  regarded  me  curiously  for  a  moment  without 
answering  and  drew  a  deep  sigh.  Mistaking  the  mean- 
ing of  the  sigh,  I  exclaimed: 

"I  hope  it  isn't  as  bad  as  that!" 

"Bad!"  she  exclaimed.  "It  is  not  bad  at  all.  I 
was  praying  for  him." 

"Him?     You  mean  Douglas?" 

She  nodded  her  head. 

"How?"  I  asked,  my  curiosity  getting  the  better  of 
my  good  taste. 

She  looked  at  me  in  surprise.  "What!"  she  ex- 
claimed. "You  do  not  know  —  you  a  high  priest  of 
Ahura  Mazda?" 

It  was  the  first  time  that  it  had  really  come  to  me 
how  she  had  regarded  us,  in  spite  of  what  Douglas 
had  said. 

"Maybe  he  was  right,"  I  thought,  "and  Zelda  isn't 
in  love  with  him,  —  only,  as  he  said,  moved  by  religious 
sentiment." 

I  am  free  to  confess  that  the  thought  gave  me  much 
comfort  and  I  hastened  to  explain. 

"We  are  not  high  priests,"  I  said;  "We  are  two 
very  simple  men  —  Douglas  and  I." 

"Then  why  did  you  come  to  the  Garden  of  Joy?" 

"Why,  to  rescue  you." 

"Only  for  that?"  she  asked  incredulously. 

"Only  for  that." 

"But  you  had  never  seen  me!" 

"No,  but  because  you  were  a  woman,  we  had 
promised." 


170  DOUGLAS 

She  regarded  me  silently  for  some  minutes  ere  she 
asked : 

"  Do  men  in  your  country  do  all  that  for  a  woman  ?  " 

"More!  Many  men  have  laid  down  their  lives  for 
women  whom  they  have  never  known  —  hardly  seen, 
simply  because  they  were  women. 

"But  tell  me,"  I  continued,  "why  did  we  find  you 
engaged  in  the  fire  worship  —  you  the  daughter  of  an 
Emir  —  a  descendant  of  the  Prophet  ?  " 

"It  was  my  mother's  religion.     She  was  a  Persian." 

"And  the  song—" 

"My  mother  taught  it  to  me." 

"AH,  too,  I  suppose." 

"Ali's  mother  was  not  my  mother.  She  was  an 
Arab,  but  I  —  "  and  she  drew  her  form  up  proudly, 
"I  am  a  Ghebar — descended  from  the  great  Zoroaster. 
My  ancestors  have  worshipped  the  fire  since  the  days 
of  Hushing.  It  creates.  It  purifies.  It  makes  clean. 
It  will  bring  back  life  to  —  to  him." 

"Can't  you  say  Douglas,"  I  asked  just  a  little  bit 
jealous,  I  think,  of  the  deference  she  paid  his  name. 

"It  comes  not  easily  to  the  tongue,"  she  said. 
"But  is  he  not  a  great  high  priest  ?" 

"No  more  than  I." 

"But  the  fire  you  carried  in  your  hands.  Was  it 
not  brought  down  from  heaven  ?" 

"Yes  and  no.  It  is  in  the  air  all  about  you.  All 
you  have  to  do,  is  to  know  how  to  get  it." 

"Zelda  does  not  see  it.     It  must  take  a  wise  man." 

"So  it  did  —  a  great  many  wise  men;  but  it  is  very 
simple  when  you  know  how.  In  my  country  it  is  used 


DARKNESS  BEFORE  THE  DAWN      171 

to  light  the  house,  run  the  carriage,  and  cook  the 
meals." 

An  almost  enraptured  expression  spread  itself  over 
Zelda's  face  as  she  exclaimed:  "Great  is  Ahura 
Mazda  —  the  great  god  —  the  sun  which  gives  life 
and  purifies  all!  How  can  you  help  worshipping 
him?" 

"We  worship  the  One  who  made  the  sun  in  the 
heavens,"  I  explained.  "The  God  who  made  all 
things." 

Then  I  stopped.  I  was  a  good  one,  wasn't  I,  to  be 
teaching  anyone  anything  about  God — I  who  knew 
less  about  Him  than  any  one  I  had  ever  met  —  even 
than  Douglas,  who  had  learned  about  Him  only  to 
fear  Him. 

Then  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I  stopped  to  think 
what  I  really  did  know  about  God.  I  was  forced  to 
admit  that  I  knew  absolutely  nothing.  For  the  first 
time,  too,  it  began  to  dawn  upon  me  why  Douglas  was 
the  victim  of  constant  fear. 

"There  must  be  some  sort  of  solution  to  this  prob- 
lem," I  declared  to  myself,  "but  what  is  it?" 

I  was  silent  so  long  that  when  I  at  last  came  to  my- 
self I  found  Zelda  watching  me  intently. 

"Tell  me  more  about  your  God,"  she  said. 

I  shook  my  head.     "I  can't  do  it." 

"Why  not?" 

"I  don't  know  anything  to  tell." 

"Surely  you  must  know  the  God  whom  you 
worship." 

"I  am  afraid,"  I  said,  "that  the  God  you  want  to 


172  DOUGLAS 

know  about,  isn't  the  one  I  have  been  worshipping." 

"I  want  to  know  about  whatever  God  you  do  wor- 
ship —  you  and  he." 

I  took  a  hasty  mental  survey  of  myself  and  then 
said  slowly: 

"The  God  about  whom  you  really  want  to  know 
and  whom  we  really  ought  to  worship,  is  so  far  off  to 
most  of  my  countrymen  that  about  all  we  do  is  to  fear 
Him.  The  god  whom  Douglas  and  I  have  been  wor- 
shipping is  an  altogether  different  kind  of  god,"  I 
said  grimly,  "and  is  known  as  Publicity.  We  seem 
to  have  believed  this  the  most  potent  of  all  powers  we 
know,  if  not  absolutely  omnipotent." 

Zelda's  expression  indicated  that  she  had  not  the 
slightest  idea  of  what  I  was  talking  about,  and  I 
didn't  blame  her.  I  hardly  knew  myself,  and  I  wished 
Douglas  were  well  enough  to  talk,  although  I  doubted 
if  he  could  do  much  better. 

"Ahura  Mazda,  the  great  purifier  of  all,  brings 
health  to  man,"  declared  Zelda.  "Does  your  God  do 
that?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  I  said  glibly.  "  The  Bible  tells  of  many 
cases." 

"Then  why  don't  you  pray  to  Him  to  make  him  — 
Douglas  —  well?" 

"Maybe  He  wants  him  to  be  sick,"  I  replied. 

"What!  Does  your  God  make  people  sick  and 
well,  too?" 

"Yes,  indeed!  When  they  are  not  good,  He  sends 
sickness  as  a  punishment." 

"Why  does  He  do  that?" 

I  was  sure  I  didn't  know  and  I  didn't  know  what  to 


DARKNESS  BEFORE  THE  DAWN      173 

answer.  I  was  getting  mighty  uncomfortable  and  was 
about  to  suggest  that  I  thought  Douglas  needed  some- 
thing, when  the  arrival  of  Hassim  interrupted  us. 

"I'll  tell  you  about  our  God  some  other  time,"  I 
said. 

"From  what  you  say,"  declared  Zelda,  "I  don't  think 
I  want  to  know  Him." 

Hassim  came  to  say  that  Ahab  had  just  arrived  in 
Yezd  from  Shiraz  and  the  tomb  of  Cyrus  with  a  small 
party  of  diplomats  and  distinguished  foreigners. 
Learning  of  our  presence  in  the  city,  he  had  ordered 
that  we  be  sent  for;  but  upon  learning  of  Douglas' 
condition  he  had  sent  Hassim  to  express  his  sympathy 
and  to  say  that  he  would  call  as  soon  as  his  duties 
would  permit. 

I  was  rejoiced  to  hear  of  his  arrival  and  told  Hassim 
to  bear  him  my  greetings  and  tell  him  I  was  most 
anxious  to  see  him.  Instead  of  hastening  away  with 
the  message,  Hassim  lingered. 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked. 

"O  Sahib,"  he  said  prostrating  himself,  "if  Ahab 
Kedar  Kahn  learns  the  truth,  it  will  mean  my  disgrace 
— perhaps  my  death." 

"You  deserve  punishment,"  I  declared,  "but  have 
no  fear.  If  it  becomes  necessary  to  speak  of  it,  I  shall 
tell  him  we  sent  you  away  that  we  might  have  freedom 
to  do  as  we  pleased." 

He  attempted  to  thank  me,  but  I  cut  him  short. 

"I  have  no  wish  to  injure  you,"  I  said,  "but  let  it  be 
a  lesson  to  you." 

He  bowed  himself  out  with  many  protestations  of 
gratitude  and  I  had  no  doubt  I  had  made  a  staunch 


174  DOUGLAS 

friend,  for  really  Hassim  was  not  a  bad  sort.  He  was 
simply  terrified  by  the  mystery  of  the  Garden  of  Joy 
and  I  was  becoming  too  well  acquainted  with  the 
besetting  fears  of  mankind  to  set  myself  up  as  a  judge 
of  any  one. 

Zelda  had  gone  to  Ali  when  Hassim  entered,  but  as 
I  came  in  from  the  garden  a  few  minutes  later,  I  saw 
her  gliding  from  Douglas'  bedside.  I  was  surprised 
that  the  knowledge  gave  me  a  little  pang  and  I  deter- 
mined once  and  for  all  to  put  the  girl  out  of  my 
thoughts,  for  although  Douglas  and  I  were  about  as 
mismated  a  pair  of  chums  as  you  could  imagine,  I 
was  fond  of  him  even  then,  and  I  knew  he  was  of  me. 

It  was  a  couple  of  hours  later  that  Ahab  Kahn 
arrived.  That  he  was  pained  beyond  measure  at 
Douglas'  condition  I  could  plainly  see.  He  insisted 
that  I  tell  him  of  our  adventure,  which  I  did,  just  as  I 
have  set  it  down  here. 

"It  should  not  be!"  he  exclaimed,  when  I  had 
finished.  "It  should  not  be!  He  was  on  a  mission 
of  kindness  and  humanity  —  a  mission  of  good  —  and 
it  is  unbelievable  that  God  should  have  permitted  such 
a  calamity." 

"I  don't  think  God  had  anything  to  do  with  it,"  I 
declared. 

"Of  course  not;  but  He  could  have  prevented  it. 
Why  didn't  He?  That  is  the  one  weak  spot  in  all 
theology.  We  know  that  God  can  protect  his  creatures. 
Why  doesn't  He?  Why  does  he  let  some  of  them 
prey  upon  others  ?  " 

"You  can  search  me!  I  don't  know  But  if  there 
is  any  truth  in  the  old  saying  that  the  thing  we  fear  is 


DARKNESS  BEFORE  THE  DAWN      175 

the  thing  we  get,  why  Douglas  simply  got  what  was 
coming  to  him  —  and  that  is  not  saying  that  I  am  not 
mighty  sorry  and  am  praying  for  his  recovery." 

"If  you  pray  hard  enough  he  will  recover." 

"Do  you  believe  that?" 

"I  have  seen  it  done." 

"Can  you  do  it?" 

"I  have  never  been  quite  certain,  although  at  times 
my  prayers  seemed  to  have  prevailed  —  I  believe  they 
did." 

"But  why  are  not  all  prayers  answered?" 

"Lack  of  faith,  I  suppose,"  he  replied. 

"Douglas  tell  me  he  used  to  pray  all  the  time  but 
that  he  never  received  any  answer  to  his  prayers  and 
so  he  neglected  it.  That's  why  he  came  to  the  con- 
clusion that  life  and  the  future  were  an  unsolved  mys- 
tery. The  uncertainty  of  it  all  has  made  his  life  a 
burden  —  a  burden  of  fear." 

"It's  simply  the  history  of  the  children  of  Israel 
over  again,"  said  Ahab,  "as  I  told  you  that  night  on 
the  steamer.  Everything  is  serene  as  long  as  it  goes 
just  as  we  expect.  Then  the  unforeseen  comes  along 
and  immediately  we  are  filled  with  fear,  lose  our  trust 
ii  the  omniscience  and  omnipotence  of  God  —  and 
consequently  our  confidence  in  ourselves — we  who  are 
made  in  His  image  and  likeness." 

"But  how  can  we  have  faith  when  we  see  Him  allow- 
ing all  these  dire  disasters  to  happen?" 

And  again  Ahab  replied: 

"I  don't  know." 

I  looked  from  him  to  Douglas.  "I  can't  see  that  it 
makes  much  difference  how  you  get  at  these  things," 


176  DOUGLAS 

I  exclaimed.  "You  have  faith  to  believe  everything 
will  come  out  all  right  in  the  end,  and  on  the  strength 
of  that  faith  don't  worry  —  although  you  admit  you 
don't  know  anything  about  the  future.  Douglas  ad- 
mits that  he  doesn't  know,  therefore,  has  no  faith  and 
leads  a  life  of  terror  because  of  his  fear.  It  doesn't 
seem  right,  does  it?" 

He  admitted  that  it  did  not. 

"I  don't  know,"  I  said,  "but  I  am  beginning  to 
think  with  Douglas  that  we  are  all  governed  by 
fear." 

"I  have  known  a  few  people  who  were  not,"  said 
Ahab;  "people  who  seem  absolutely  to  take  no  thought 
of  anything  but  the  good  in  life." 

"I'd  like  to  see  some  of  them." 

"I  can  show  you  a  couple  of  them  right  here  in 
Yezd." 

I  looked  at  him  in  surprise. 

"They  must  be  different  from  the  Persians  whom  I 
have  met,"  I  exclaimed. 

"They  are  not  Persians.  They  are  countrymen  of 
yours.  They  are  among  the  party  of  distinguished 
foreigners  I  am  escorting  to  Teheran. 

"It  is  from  one  of  these,  a  lady,  that  I  have  learned 
what  little  I  really  know  about  God.  I  thought  after 
a  few  talks  with  her  that  I  knew  it  all,  but  I  begin  to  see 
that  it  is  the  study  of  a  lifetime." 

The  announcement  that  there  were  Americans  be- 
side ourselves  in  Yezd  gave  me  genuine  pleasure.  I 
longed  for  the  sight  of  an  American  face.  If  only  an 
American  woman  would  come  and  see  Douglas,  I 
thought,  it  might  bring  him  back  to  himself. 


DARKNESS  BEFORE  THE  DAWN      177 

"Do  you  suppose  this  woman  would  come  and  see 
Douglas?"  I  asked. 

"You  mean  Mrs.  Campbell?" 

"I  mean  the  woman  you  were  talking  about  —  the 
woman  who  has  no  fear.  Is  that  her  name?" 

"Yes,  and  I  am  sure  she  looks  as  though  she  would 
be  right  at  home  in  such  a  place.  I'll  ask  her.  She 
can  teach  you  more  about  God  in  one  hour  than  I 
could  teach  you  during  all  the  rest  of  your  sojourn  in 
Persia." 

He  turned  to  leave. 

"Just  tell  her  that  we  are  two  sick  Americans,"  I 
said,  "who  need  the  presence  of  an  American  woman." 

"Two?"  looking  at  me  in  surprise. 

"Yes,  two." 

He  regarded  me  sympathetically. 

"Is  it  really  true?"  he  asked.     "You  are  sick?" 

"Yes,"  I  declared;  "homesick." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE    DAWN 

No  woman's  face  ever  looked  as  good  to  me  as  that 
of  Mrs.  Campbell.  I  cannot  paint  her  picture,  but  if 
you  wish  to  know  how  she  looked  to  me,  just  think  of 
your  mother  as  you  knew  her  when  a  boy. 

She  entered  the  house  under  the  guidance  of  Hassim 
an  hour  later,  so  quietly  as  to  hardly  make  her  presence 
known.  She  greeted  me  as  though  I  were  an  old 
friend  —  almost  as  a  brother.  Into  Douglas'  room 
she  glided  like  a  ray  of  sunshine,  and  the  look  of  com- 
passion on  her  face  as  she  stood  silently  over  him 
almost  brought  the  tears  to  my  eyes. 

"Poor  boy,"  she  said  gently,  as  she  laid  her  hand 
upon  his  head;  "Don't  you  know  there  is  nothing  to 
fear." 

Whether  it  was  the  sound  of  her  voice,  or  the  press- 
ure of  her  hand  upon  his  head  that  aroused  him  I 
know  not,  but  he  opened  his  eyes  ar  J  looked  up  at  her 
wonderingly. 

"Do  you  want  me  to  sit  by  you  a  little  while?"  she 
asked. 

His  eyes  followed  her  as  she  drew  a  chair  nearer 
and  seated  herself,  but  he  made  no  reply.  Then  as  she 
laid  her  hand  once  more  on  his  head,  he  drew  a  deep 

178 


THE  DAWN  179 

sigh,  and  closed  his  eyes  as  though  he  had  found 
something  he  had  long  been  seeking. 

"There,"  she  said  as  gently  as  though  talking  to  a 
child.  "  Go  to  sleep,  knowing  that  'the  eternal  God  is 
thy  refuge  and  underneath  are  the  everlasting  arms.'" 

I  regarded  her  with  mingled  admiration  and  sur- 
prise. I  wondered  why  she  should  say  such  thirgs  at 
all,  and  especially  why  she  should  say  them  to  Douglas, 
who  seemed  utterly  unconscious  of  any  words  she 
might  utter.  She  must  have  caught  my  look  of  in- 
quiry, for  she  smiled  upon  me  as  she  said : 

"Do  you  think  he'd  like  to  have  me  pray  for  him ?" 

"I  have  no  doubt  of  it.  He's  of  quite  a  religious 
turn  of  mind;  but  I  think  that's  what's  the  matter  with 
him." 

It  was  her  turn  to  be  surprised.  "How  so?"  she 
asked. 

"He's  learned  so  much  about  God  that  he's  afraid 
of  Him." 

"Afraid  of  God?" 

"Yes,  ma'am.  Afraid  of  what  God  may  do  to  him 
when  he  dies." 

"Poor  boy,"  she  said  again.  "Still,  you  think  he'd 
like  me  to  pray  for  him  ?" 

"I'm  sure  of  it;  especially  if  you'll  pray  God  not  to 
let  him  die." 

She  made  no  reply,  but  instead  closed  her  eyes,  and 
although  she  uttered  no  words,  I  am  sure  she  was 
praying. 

So  impressive  was  the  silence,  and  so  expressive  her 
face  and  attitude,  that  even  I,  irreligious  and  impassive 
newspaper  man  that  I  was,  seemed  to  feel  an  all  per- 


180  DOUGLAS 

vading  presence  that  filled  me  with  an  inexplicable 
desire  for  higher  and  better  things.  Through  my 
mind  flashed  the  description  of  the  Israelites'  "holy  of 
holies,"  and  I  remembered  thinking  to  myself, 
"Surely  this  woman  must  have  passed  within." 

I  would  not  attempt  to  say  how  long  she  prayed. 
To  such  an  extent  did  my  mind  reach  out,  that  it 
might  have  been  hours  in  so  far  as  my  personal  sense 
of  things  was  concerned !  However  long  it  was,  I  was 
brought  back  to  myself  by  the  sound  of  her  voice 
speaking  in  gentle  tones,  and  I  noted  at  a  glance  that 
Douglas  was  looking  up  into  her  face  with  the  first 
gleam  of  intelligence  I  had  seen  there  for  days.  Then 
and  there  I  felt  that  Mrs.  Campbell's  prayer  had  been 
answered  and  that  the  crisis  was  passed;  nor  was  I 
mistaken. 

From  that  hour  on  Douglas  showed  marked  im- 
provement, and  while  his  recovery  was  not  rapid  it 
dated  from  that  minute.  Then  and  there,  too,  I  am 
convinced,  began  his  rescue  from  the  fear  with  which 
he  had  so  long  been  bound.  However,  that  is  not  for 
me  to  say.  I  am  only  relating  things  as  I  saw  them 
develop  day  by  day.  It  may  be  that  when  you  have 
heard  all  the  facts  you  will  not  agree  with  me. 

No  one  can  imagine  the  feeling  of  joy  I  experienced 
when  I  caught  in  Douglas'  eyes  that  first  gleam  of 
returning  consciousness.  It  was  as  though  a  great 
load  had  been  lifted  from  me,  and  I  stepped  quickly 
to  the  side  of  the  bed. 

"Your  prayer  has  been  answered,"  I  exclaimed. 
"I  can  see  it,"  and  I  took  the  hand  which  Douglas 
feebly  raised  from  the  coverlet. 


THE  DAWN  181 

She  looked  up  at  me  with  a  smile  so  sweet  and  an 
expression  so  angelic  that  I  cannot  wonder  it  called 
Douglas  back  from  wherever  he  was  wandering,  and 
said  in  a  low  voice:  "The  prayer  of  faith  shall  save 
the  sick,  and  the  Lord  shall  raise  him  up;  and  if  he 
have  committed  sins  they  shall  be  forgiven  him." 

Douglas  must  have  understood  for  he  gave  my 
hand  a  slight  pressure  as  he  closed  his  eyes  and  again 
slept. 

"Will  you  come  again  ?"  I  asked,  as  Mrs.  Campbell 
arose  to  go. 

"Oh,  yes.  I  shall  insist  on  staying  a  day  or  two, 
until  your  friend  is  able  to  realize  the  truth.  Douglas 
—  did  you  call  him?" 

I  nodded  my  head. 

"It  is  a  grand  and  heroic  name,"  she  said,  "and  I 
am  sure  he  is  a  grand  and  noble  man." 

"Indeed  he  is,"  I  replied  emphatically.  "He  re- 
ceived his  injury  in  protecting  another.  He  is  a 
strange  mixture." 

She  gave  me  such  a  questioning  glance  that  I  saw 
she  misunderstood  me,  and  for  fear  she  might  think  I 
was  criticising  or  misjudging  him,  I  felt  impelled  to 
tell  her  a  little  of  what  I  have  here  set  forth  of  the  fear 
that  so  haunted  him. 

"It  is  the  same  old  story,"  she  said  sadly,  "the  fear 
of  ignorance  —  ignorance  of  God,  and  necessarily 
therefore,  ignorance  of  man  in  God's  image.  How 
can  we  expect  man  to  claim  his  birthright  if  he  doesn't 
know  what  it  is?" 

"We  can't,"  I  replied,  without  the  slightest  idea  of 
what  she  was  talking  about.  "Maybe  you  could  help 


182  DOUGLAS 

Dorglas  some  way,"  I  added,  my  confidence  in  her 
becoming  greater  with  every  word  she  uttered. 

"I  shall  be  glad  to  try,"  was  her  smiling  rejoinder. 
Then  as  she  stopped  a  moment  at  the  bedside,  "You 
can  see  how  much  better  he  is.  Don't  you  think  you 
can  trust  him  to  God  from  now  on,  instead  of  the 
doctor?" 

"I  can  trust  him  to  you,"  I  replied. 

She  smiled  an  odd  little  smile,  whose  meaning  I 
could  not  even  guess.  "Very  well,"  she  said,  "if  you 
prefer  to  look  at  it  that  way;  but  remember  that  with- 
out God,  none  of  us  can  do  anything.  With  Him  we 
can  do  all." 

After  she  had  gone,  I  took  the  chair  she  had  vacated 
by  the  side  of  the  bed  and  sat  for  a  long  time  thinking. 
Zelda  entered  and  seeing  that  I  was  busy  with  my 
thoughts  said  nothing,  but  seated  herself  silently  on 
the  floor  at  the  foot  of  the  bed. 

As  I  looked  alternately  from  her  to  Douglas  and  my 
thoughts  turned  likewise  to  Ahab  and  Mrs.  Campbell 
and  even  the  Persian  attendants,  my  thoughts  ran 
something  like  this: 

"What  kind  of  a  Supreme  Being  must  God  be,  that 
there  should  be  so  many  different  ideas  about  Him, 
and  all  seemingly  gathered  from  the  same  source? 
All  run  back  to  Abraham,  Moses,  and  the  prophets, 
and  all  seem  touched  with  the  same  central  truth. 
One  person's  idea,  however,  fills  him  with  superstition, 
another's  with  fear,  while  still  another's  inspires  with 
unlimited  confidence.  One  idea  makes  of  its  believer 
the  weakest  and  most  helpless  of  beings,  while  the 
other  gives  power  and  ability.  I  don't  understand  it.' 


THE  DAWN  183 

Nor  did  I,  and  I  was  glad  when  the  bargi  came  in 
and  announced  that  the  noonday  meal  was  prepared. 

By  the  next  morning  Douglas  was  much  better. 
He  recognized  his  surroundings  and  insisted  on  know- 
ing how  we  came  there.  I  told  him  all  I  thought 
necessary,  and  he  appeared  satisfied,  simply  remarking, 

"It  was  a  close  shave,  wasn't  it?" 

"It  certainly  was,  and  you  can  thank  Mrs.  Campbell 
that  you  are  as  well  as  you  are." 

"Mrs.  Campbell!"  he  repeated. 

"Yes,  the  woman  I  just  told  you  prayed  you  back 
to  your  senses." 

"Do  you  really  think  she  did?" 

"There's  no  doubt  of  it,"  I  declared  confidently. 

"Do  you  think  she  can  pray  me  well?" 

"Of  course;   why  not?" 

"Because  if  she  can't,"  he  declared,  "I'd  a  great 
deal  rather  not  have  regained  my  senses." 

My  face  must  have  indicated  that  I  understood,  for 
he  said: 

"Yes,  I  had  passed  the  point  where  I  was  afraid." 

"Who  is  that  talking  about  being  afraid?"  asked 
a  soft  voice  and,  turning,  I  saw  Mrs.  Campbell  in  the 
doorway. 

"Oh,  good  morning,"  I  said,  "Douglas  will  be  glad 
to  see  you.  We  were  just  talking  about  you." 

"Yes?"  and  she  approached  the  bed.  "And  you 
dared  mention  me  in  the  same  breath  with  fear?" 

"Not  exactly,"  I  replied,  "my  friend  was  just  saying 
that  if  he  is  not  going  to  get  well,  he  would  rather  have 
died  without  regaining  consciousness,  as  he  had 
reached  a  point  where  he  was  not  afraid,  meaning,"  I 


184  DOUGLAS 

explained,  "that  he  had  lost  his  ability  to  think  — 
therefore  his  sense  of  fear." 

"His  sense  of  fear.  How  truthfully  you  express  it, 
although  unconsciously,  I  expect.  ,That  is  all  he  could 
have  —  a  sense  of  fear.  He  cannot  really  fear,  be- 
cause if  man  is  the  image  and  likeness  of  God  — " 

"What?"  I  interrupted.  "Cannot  fear?  Why, 
Douglas  is  even  afraid  of  God." 

"No,"  she  continued  without  noting  my  interrup- 
tion, "can  not  fear,  because  if  man  is  the  image  and 
likeness  of  God,  he  can  only  have  what  God  has,  and 
He  has  no  fear  of  anything.  But  we'll  not  discuss 
that  now.  The  first  thing  is  for  your  friend  to  recover 
from  this  fear  of  sickness.  And  now  would  you  mind 
leaving  us  alone  ?  " 

I  went  out  into  the  garden  where  I  was  soon  joined 
by  Zelda. 

"Who  is  the  feringhees  woman?"  she  asked. 

"A  countrywoman." 

"Is  she  a  doctor?" 

"No." 

"A  witch?" 

"Why,  no,  of  course  not.  Why  do  you  ask  such 
questions  ?  " 

"She  is  helping  him  to  get  well." 

"She  is  praying  to  God  to  make  him  well,"  I 
explained. 

"Zelda  prayed  to  Ahura  Mazda,  the  creator  of  all, 
to  make  him  —  your  friend,  well,  but  he  did  not. 
How  does  any  other  God  dare?" 

"There  is  but  one  God,"  I  replied. 


